


Murphy's Law

by ToriCeratops



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Birth, Established Relationship, Explosions, Hostage Situations, Hyperemesis gravidarum, M/M, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, Pregnancy complications, Suicide Bomber, Unplanned Pregnancy, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriCeratops/pseuds/ToriCeratops
Summary: “This isn’t a bad thing, Mom.  I promise.” He reaches for her hand and guides her to rest it over his stomach.  There’s no proper swell there, though there probably should be. But it’s the gentle motion, the acceptance of her in this space, that counts.  “I love Gil. And this, us, the…” Malcolm swallows hard and it kills Gil to see him still struggling to admit this out loud. “This isn’t a bad thing.  Not an accident, or unwanted, just… unexpected.” He holds his hand over Jessica’s and begs her. “Please be happy for us.”
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 14
Kudos: 157
Collections: Prodigal Son Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a bunch of MPreg for the MPreg Golbins on the Trash Server.  
> 

Did you know antibiotics can interfere with birth control?

Malcolm Bright didn't know.

He sure as hell wishes someone would have told him.

> **_February 20th_ **

The arm squeezing around Malcolm’s middle slowly drags him from a floating haze of half sleep to something a little more coherent. He’s blissfully sore and achy from a long night of activities and stretches in his lover’s arms before blinking blearily at the morning sun filtering through his window. 

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up.” Gil’s words are raspy and quiet, his beard tickling at the back of Malcolm’s neck as he begins to place soft kisses there. 

Malcolm twitches with a smile but tries not to squirm away. “Were you watching me sleep?”

Gil hums and reaches to release the one wrist cuff Malcolm still uses when Gil sleeps over. “Can you blame a man for indulging? The last time I had the chance you were still in DC.”

It had only been a month before the Springer case, before the nightmares returned - before everything went to hell. I had been the one year anniversary of what he refers to as ‘the change’, the night the two of them altered their relationship dynamics so drastically, so completely, there had been no going back. He still remembers the naive thought he’d had that night, that maybe - finally - he could have something resembling a normal life.

Oh, how that had all gone up in gun smoke.

“Maybe you should wear me out as thoroughly as you did last night more often.” Malcolm suggests with a smirk. He turns in Gil’s arms and wriggles in closer, tucking in under the older man’s chin. 

“Is that a complaint about our usual activities?” Gil asks, voice dripping in faux offense. 

Malcolm perks up and rests on one elbow, running his free hand up and down Gil’s chest while thinking over his answer. “If I lodge a formal complaint will you keep me on edge for nearly an hour more often?”

“No.” Gil says with a laugh. “But maybe an official  _ request _ will get you what you’re looking for.”

They kiss and hold one another, lazing about on the late Sunday morning with small bursts of shared laughter and constant contact.

Half an hour after he wakes up, Malcolm makes sure to get one last swat in on Gil’s bare ass as the older man finally escapes his clutches and heads off to shower with a loud laugh.

With a light heart and lingering smile, Malcolm slips on a pair of flannel pants that hang low on his hips to get started on his day. After feeding Sunshine and letting her out for a while he carefully lines up his medications. His anti hallucinogens - which he’s not sure why he even bothers with anymore - are first. Then his anti-anxiety meds and antidepressants. For one more day, he has to take antibiotics. He rattles the bottle and notes he’s only got one pill left so he’ll finally be done. The head first dive he’d taken into a dumpster on a case a couple weeks back had left him with a cut that got infected and he’s finally going to be done with it. Finally, comes his birth-control. As part of the 5% of the XY population that can carry a child his chances are already low even before he spent years ruining his body with stress and medications. Even though his doctor referred to his womb as an inhospitable wasteland no egg could ever implant in Malcolm isn’t going to push his luck. 

The shower finally comes on while he’s putting all the bottles away but in the middle of deciding whether or not to join Gil there’s a pounding on his door.

He knows exactly who that noise belongs to.

Malcolm bolts to the bathroom door first, reaching inside to set the lock. “My mother’s here. Don’t come out.”

“What!” Gil’s wide eyes match the panic in his voice. 

“And no singing!” Heart racing he pulls the door shut. Normally Gil’s already gone by the time she rolls around on the days she does. There’s too much evidence he has a guest to hide it all, but he kicks Gil’s jeans over his shoes at least. His mother would absolutely notice something like that and add it up.

She pounds on the door again.

At least he’s finally convinced her to stop storming in.

“Mother!” Malcom opens the door and tries to stand in the way - just in case he’ll get away with it for once - but she just barrels past like she always does. “What a - surprise.” He shuts the door with a roll of his eyes.

“Good morning, darling. I’m here to take you to bru…” She stops speaking and walking at the same moment, and does a slow 360 taking in the entire loft. He can tell every time she spots something - his shirt laying over the back of the couch, the two plates sitting on the edge of the sink, the two tumblers sitting on the bar. The pile of clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed - the bed that has obviously been well used. Of course - there’s also the shower running though he’s sure he could have explained that away as about to get in if it weren’t for literally everything else. 

“You have a guest!” She turns on Malcolm with an inappropriately salacious grin.

“Your powers of observation are beyond compare.” He deadpans.

“Well, are you going to introduce me? Who is she? How did you meet?”

“Mom,”

“Is it serious? It must be if she’s staying over?”

“Mom! The morning after - right as my date gets out of the shower - is hardly the time or place to introduce my mother.”

“Why on earth not? Ainsley did it.”

“I am confident she wasn’t given a choice.”

Jessica absolutely does not deny that, simply waving it off with a scoff.

“Well, you have to bring her to brunch.”

“No.”

“Malcolm.”

“No! Mother,” He sighs and grabs at his hair in frustration for a dozen reasons. “It’s not…” Malcolm grabs her hand in both of his, making sure they maintain eye contact as he pleads with her. “Any relationship that I want to be serious has to be taken slowly and carefully. I’m not an easy person to love.”

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s not true at all.”

He gives her a flat look until she deflates with a pout.

“Well, it’s not that difficult.” She tries instead.

“Either way,” He says “I need you to give me some time to make sure my relationship is where it needs to be - where I want it to be - before we introduce all of our.. Family issues.” It’s a stretch of the truth rather than an outright lie. They’ve been together for just over two years now and they both know where they stand - in the shadows. Though if Gil had his way - before Malcolm was working for him anyway - they would never have hidden it from the word go.

But it is terrifying, how long they’ve worked so well together, how strong they’ve come out on the other side of all the problems they have faced. The awkward beginnings, the long distance, his mental health, the move back to New York, the night terrors. Everything. They just fit and the longer they go without any hint of falling apart the more scared Malcolm gets.

Jessica looks like she’s going to argue some more for a moment, but eventually nods. She twists her hands in Malcolm’s so that they’re holding on to one another. 

“Fine. But you owe me.” She gives his hands a good shake, then lets go to grab him by the face and tilt him down to kiss the top of his head. “Brunch tomorrow, got it?”

“Got it.” He nods with a smile, grateful that for once he got out of this without too much of a confrontation. 

They walk back towards his door but as she’s stepping through she stops and turns, placing a hand on his cheek, her brows furrowed in concern. “And don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided saying a gender. You’re not keeping this from me because you’re with a man, are you? You know I don’t care, right?” She seems genuinely stressed at the idea that he’s hiding that from her because she might not approve. 

So he shakes his head. “No. That’s not it. He is a wonderful man and I’m sure once I introduce you the two of you will get along like,” Malcolm pauses and thinks of something appropriate to say. Then, because he likes to live dangerously, he smirks, “...like old friends.”

Jessica wrinkles her nose and departs with a grin and a wave.

After shutting the door Malcolm leans back against it with a heavy, relieved sigh. That’s the closest he’s ever come to getting caught. But he doesn’t completely relax until he makes his way over to his window and watches as her car finally pulls away. 

The water shuts off and Malcolm shouts the all clear.

A few minutes later, still staring down at the street below, Malcolm jerks ever so slightly when Gil comes up behind him. He leans into his warmth, holds on to the arms that wrap around his middle, and sighs. Tilting his head to allow Gil to kiss down his neck Malcolm knows that this is where he belongs, safe and comfortable, held, loved.

“I’m honestly surprised we made it this long living in the same city before we had such a close call,” Malcolm says. More and more tension drains from his body with every kiss.

Gil hums against his skin. “You know we don’t have to keep this a secret. We can tell her. We can tell whoever you want,” he assures him. He’s always assuring him.

Malcolm turns in his arms and takes a moment to bite back his laugh at the robe Gil is wearing. Despite several very luxurious, very expensive options in Malcolm’s linen closet, the older man always insists on wearing his old, threadbare favorite.

“I know. And I know you never wanted to keep us quiet. But now, with everything going on, and all that’s changed, working together…” He can feel his pulse pick up, the spike of pain in his chest that seems to always sneak up on him when he least expects it. 

But Gil is steady, his hands firm and solid where they move to hold Malcolm by the shoulders. “Hey. Shh. It’s okay. Your pace, remember? That deal hasn’t ever changed.”

All Malcolm can do is nod and let himself be held.

  
  
  
  
  


> **_March 15th_ **

It’s not that late one Tuesday evening when Gil looks up from a case file to see that Malcolm has fallen asleep on his leg. They’re stretched out on the sofa in Malcolm’s loft and had been quietly consuming their own materials - Gil, a report from Dani they have to turn in, in the morning and Malcolm, a research journal from Stanford.

He stares in shock for a moment. Malcolm almost never just falls asleep where he is. Hell, he has a hard time falling asleep in bed when he eventually crawls in to make an attempt. The easy rise and fall of his chest lets him know that he’s not in any distress so Gil smiles at him in the silence. He runs his fingers through Malcolm’s soft brown hair and simply enjoys watching him be at peace for once.

There are so few moments they can find this - the quiet, the chance to rest. Malcolm’s past has been weighing so heavily on him Gil had been terrified for a while he would finally break. At one point, he thought he had. But just like he always has, Malcolm pulled himself back up, put himself back together time and time again. And Gil gets to watch, at his side now, and be there for him in ways he’d never even dreamed of - falling more and more in love with him and his strength every day.

“No.”

Malcolm’s hand twitches and the journal laying on his chest falls to the floor. He starts to twitch and twist. Gil has to toss his own file to the floor so he can catch Malcolm before he rolls off. 

“No! No, stop! It hurts!” 

“Malcolm!” Gil grabs him carefully - but firmly - by the shoulders. “Malcolm, baby, wake up.”

Malcom’s scream cuts Gil down to the bone. It’s not his usual nightmare shout of fear but one of intense, blinding pain. Gil starts to actually shake him, putting a hand on his face.

“Malcolm, please wake up!”

There have been very few times Gil hasn’t been able to wake Malcolm from one of his nightmares - and those were all after a string of traumatic days. But Gil isn’t able to rouse him and the thrashing gets worse until he is suddenly bolting up off the couch. Fear spikes through Gil’s chest as he goes after him. The last time Malcolm got up in a panic from a dream he almost stabbed Gil and didn’t forgive himself for weeks.

This time, however, Malcolm disappears into the bathroom and the sound of violent retching fills the otherwise silent loft.

The panic in Gil’s gut doesn’t abate at all. For the most part, Malcolm has been able to keep his stomach problems under control lately. Hell, they cook extremely specific things that  _ won’t  _ affect him for dinner every night. He gets to the bathroom just as Malcolm is slinking down against the tile floor, head resting against the side of the toilet with a miserable look on his face.

“I’m not going to ask how you feel,” Gil starts softly, coming to kneel next to him after running warm water over a washcloth, “but are you awake at least?” 

Malcolm just nods, lips pinched together like he’s holding back again. He still seems disoriented though, so Gil just works in silence, helping him clean up and guiding him through rinsing out his mouth with low, quiet prompts. He steers him towards the bed, helps him change his sweater into something clean then crawls onto the mattress behind him when Malcolm won’t do anything more than blink. 

“Thank you,” Malcolm eventually gets out in a whisper. “I don’t... That was new.” 

“Tell me about it?” Gil prompts. For the most part, Malcolm works out his dreams aloud, telling Gil every detail he can remember so that if he brings something up later it’s not out of thin air. But occasionally, it’s too much, and he’ll keep it to himself.

Not tonight though.

Malcolm leans back against Gil’s chest and grabs onto the arms curled around his middle. “Someone was cutting me open. I don’t know why, or what they wanted. But even still, I wasn’t worried about me, I was worried about someone else. It hurt so much. Not just physically, but there was a loss there.”

“You sounded like you were being pulled apart,” Gil admits, kissing down the side of Malcolm’s neck with soft, reassuring presses of his lips. “How does your stomach feel?”

Malcolm is silent for a long time, moving one hand down to press against his abdomen. Small, worried noises escape his throat before he finally answers. “Nothing too crazy, now.”

“Do we need to take lemon chicken off the list?”

With a humorless laugh, Malcolm shakes his head. “Take too much more off and the list will be rice and water. No, I don’t think it was dinner.” His hand hasn’t moved from his stomach as he sighs. “That was just the dream affecting me. My stomach was where they were cutting so it was like it was reacting? Or something? Hell, I don’t know.” He drops his head back with a groan against Gil’s shoulder. “Wanna hear about cognitive training in shoot/don’t shoot scenarios?”

Gil kisses Malcolm’s temple with a soft smile. “Of course.”

  
  
  
  


> **_April 5th_ **

Malcolm throws up every day for the next three weeks. 

He manages to hide it from Gil, for the most part. He doesn’t want him worrying. Well, he doesn’t want him worrying any more than he already does. Because Gil worries a lot. And, Malcolm can at least admit, it’s not without reason. Malcolm is a mess, and he knows it. Despite having gotten a good hold of his diet as long as he’s preparing his own food (eating out is always hit or miss), for some reason nothing seems to be working any more. Most days he only loses one meal, but some are two or even three. 

He figures the lack of sufficient nutrients is why he’s been so tired lately. Even though he’s added some pretty hefty vitamin supplements it doesn’t really seem to be doing him any good. Every day he feels a little more sluggish, sleeps a tiny bit longer during his short bursts of rest. Despite doing everything he can to hide the changes from Gil he still gets the occasional extra worried glance, a more frequent than usual touch that has always communicated so much between them. 

One day in early April, the major crimes office is nearly dead quiet in the middle of the day. It is unusual but Malcolm isn’t exactly mad about it. He lets the silence sink in, fights to pay attention to the file in front of him. Before he really notices anything his limbs grow heavy, his chest tight. He slips slowly, the world going grey and fuzzy until the darkness takes over completely. 

His dreams are vague, strange.

It’s a far cry from the terrors that usually plague him.

For a little while, he rests.

“Bright?”

A voice breaks into the confusion. It’s soft - feminine - familiar.

“Hey. Bright, wake up.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder and it's enough to snap him into consciousness. He pops up from where his head had fallen against the papers scattered on the conference table and blinks blearily up at Dani.

“I’m fine!” He says, entirely unprompted.

But Dani gives him an unimpressed look and crosses her arms. “Yeah. Sure. You got any idea what time it is?” 

He blinks again and tries to remember the last time he’d looked at his watch since its not exactly coming into focus at the moment.

“Uh… one-ish?”

“Try three.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” He groans and drops his head into his hands. “As much as I hate that this just happened, it’s probably the longest stretch of sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

Dani pulls out the chair next to him and starts organizing some of the folders. “I don’t think i’ve ever seen you fall asleep without being intoxicated or punched in the face. You feeling okay?” She gives him quick, worried glances but for the most part keeps her eyes on what she’s doing. 

Malcolm appreciates it, especially as he stifles a yawn. “Honestly? I don’t know. I don’t necessarily feel bad,” - a lie - “but I am just, really fucking tired.”

“Maybe all these months of shitty sleep habits have finally caught up with you.”

“Maybe,” he admits. It’s not a bad hypothesis. It’s actually the most likely. Problem is, he doesn’t exactly have a good way to FIX that. 

While he’s trying to think of something else that could be sapping his energy, he catches Gil walking past the open conference room and towards his office.

“Hey, Dani?” He speaks quietly, leaning towards her.

She raises a single eyebrow.

“We can… keep this between us, right? Gil doesn’t need to know I just slept for over three hours in his conference room.”

“Oh,” She tilts her head and bites back on a laugh, “he knows.”

Malcolm drops his head against the table with a heavy thunk.

“He was on his way in here himself but got waylaid by JT. We managed to get you an extra fifteen minutes.” She gives him a quick pat on the shoulder before standing - her work apparently done - and leaves. 

At the very least, he knows his team is looking out for him.

Which is a nice change from his previous life. 

  
  
  


>   
>  **_April 26th_ **

Gil’s not blind.

He sees the way Malcolm moves slower, how he sleeps more often than he ever has in his life. Malcolm also isn’t hiding the change in his ability to keep food down as well as he thinks he is. The guy is losing weight, which is painfully obvious when Gil holds him close. He’s worried, but tries not to say anything. Malcolm may have a tendency to be reckless and keep things to himself sometimes but he still seeks out medical attention when things get bad enough.

Usually.

There is a lot of blood at their newest crime scene. It’s not spattered and spread out everywhere but rather pooled in the plastic garden pond liner their victim is lying face down in. There's so much that it’s impossible to get to the body without stepping in it. The pang of a metallic scent hits Gil as he gets closer and he’s thankful they’re outside so it's not overwhelming.

Beside him, Malcolm has his hand over his nose and mouth. He’s gone pale.

“So,” Edrisa starts “this is just an educated guess at this point but I’m thinking this is most of our victim’s blood. Which means he was likely stabbed in a major artery and tied down to bleed out.” She gestures to one of her assistants that is also wearing the plastic booties over her feet and begins to move the body. The front is, as expected, covered in coagulating blood, thick and sticky. The smell hits harder this time.

“You okay, bro?” JT says from the other side of the scene.

Gil looks over to Malcolm and notes that he is very much not okay. There is almost a green hue to his face and his eyes are watering. 

“Bright?” Dani puts her hand on his shoulder but Malcolm turns on his heels and bolts from the scene. “Bright!” Though she starts to go after him, Gil stops her.

”Stay here. I got him.”

Thankfully, Malcolm makes it past the police tape and to the other side of the line of vehicles before he lets go. Gil stops at his own car to grab a hand full of napkins and a pack of gum from his glove box. Malcolm is hunched over the ditch at the side of the road, a trickle of running water enough to wash away the evidence.

He squats down at Malcolm’s side and silently holds out what he's brought.

“Thanks.” Malcolm takes them without making eye contact, guilt written all over his face.

“Tell me what’s going on here, Malcolm.” Gil throws caution to the wind and reaches for the younger man, rubbing gently at the back of his neck and shoulders in a way he knows always soothes him. Malcolm is only silent as long as it takes him to clean up and pop a piece of gum into his mouth.

“It’s nothing, really. I feel fine for the most part and it doesn’t happen that often.” 

“Please don’t lie to me, baby,” Gil begs in a whisper. When Malcolm finally looks at him with a guilty frown he adds, “I heard you when you got up last night. And the night before.”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to worry you.”

“Too late.”

Malcolm ducks his head with a smile then stands, waiting for Gil to join him before speaking. They aren’t touching any more and Gil finds he desperately misses that simple connection. 

“It really isn’t that bad, just a little more frequent than I’d like. Ninety percent of the time I feel great. It comes pretty suddenly, I throw up, then I feel fine again.” 

“And you haven’t seen anyone about it yet, of course.”

Malcolm throws his arms out in a shrug. “It’s not really interfering with anything. Well, not before today, anyway.”

Gil sighs and rubs his hand down his beard, biting back on his knee jerk reaction which is to tell him off. But he’s learned, over time, that that is not a good plan. Especially with Malcolm. Especially when it’s not about work.

“And when this happens again?” He asks, more concerned than angry.

“If it gets worse, I’ll go see someone.” Malcolm raises his brows and steps in a little closer, putting a hand over Gil’s heart. “I promise.”

  
  
  
  


> **_May 3rd_ **

“You’ve got to go see a doctor, baby.” Gil runs his fingers through Malcolm’s hair as he groans at the thought of getting out of the car. He’s so tired. So sore. He threw up twice the night before and now they have to go to a crime scene. For the first time in Malcolm’s life, he’s thinking of skipping out on it. Though he hasn’t been sick at any crime scenes since the last time, it’s been a close thing. The worst part is, his stomach doesn’t even hurt as long as there is literally nothing in it. For the last twenty-four hours he hasn’t even been able to keep down water. But once he’s done getting rid of it all, he’s right as rain.

Mostly.

“Let’s just go see what’s going on with this newest murder victim and I promise I’ll go see someone first thing tomorrow.” He gives Gil his best pleading look and plasters on a smile he  _ knows  _ the older man can see right through. “I feel fine right now, just a little more tired than normal, that’s all.” 

For a second, he thinks Gil is going to disagree, maybe even put the keys back in the ignition and drive off to drop him at the hospital himself. They stare at one another for a long time, silent, Malcolm just waiting to get his way like he almost  _ always does.  _

“I don’t know how you do that.” Gil shakes his head and goes to open the door.

“Do what?” 

“Talk me into everything without talking.” He slams the door behind him and comes around to Malcolm’s side to wait for him to get out too.

Malcom is a little slower than normal, stretching as he stands to stretch out his aching back. He’s only 32, he shouldn’t feel this old yet. “I said plenty.” He reminds Gil.

But Gil shakes his head. “Anyone else said those words to me I would’a told them to get lost and go straight home. But you, you just…” 

Malcolm looks around, checks to make sure there’s no one too close to over hear  _ too  _ much and smirks. “It’s because you like to keep me happy. Because when I’m happy, you’re happy.” He makes sure to give him his most salacious grin, which Gil obviously picks up all the extra meanings in because he bites his lips and shakes his head again.

“Isn’t that a little heteronormative? Happy wife, happy life?” Gil accuses him with a silent chuckle and smile that lights up his eyes.

Malcolm shrugs. “Eh. I’m okay with it.” 

They make their way around the corner and under the police tape where Dani is waiting to escort them both into the building. 

It’s an older office building, and they have to head up to the fifth floor. The old, rickety elevator isn’t very large and according to the landlord not very safe so most of the responders are taking the stairs up and down.

Malcolm frowns. 

Normally, he’s in excellent shape. Tip top condition.

But lately.

He sees the worry in Gil’s eyes when he has to slow down after only two floors. “You alright, Bright?”

Malcolm nods and waves both him and Dani forward. “Had an unusually large breakfast, just, slowing me down a bit. Go on, I’ll catch up.”

From a few steps ahead of him Dani turns and raises her brows in surprise. “So what, two bites of a biscuit instead of one?”

Gil looks like he has to force himself to look away. “Something like that.” He nearly growls out before ushering Dani up the rest of the stairs. 

Malcolm catches him looking back, worry written in every line of his face, one last time before they’re both out of sight. He pauses to take a deep breath. He isn’t winded, he’s just so fucking exhausted and sore he’d almost take winded over whatever this shit is. 

Not for the first time, he wishes he and Gil could be open, free to comfort or help each other a little more than what would be deemed appropriate for a working relationship. He doesn’t  _ need  _ the help. He  _ can  _ do this on his own. 

But company is nice.

Gil’s touch is reassuring.

He  _ wants  _ him there.

Malcolm pushes forward, finishing his way up the last of the steps and onto the fifth floor.

It’s a long, sterile hallway with cream colored walls and generic art prints here and there. The drop ceiling feels a little lower than what he’s used to and he feels cramped. Down to the left is a cacophony of noises of cameras flashing and officers and crime scene specialists talking. He can hear Edrisa’s voice just a little clearer over it all.

Malcolm takes his time making his way towards the team, noting a few drops of blood in the old, faded berber carpet leading towards the stairwell he just exited. They’re all marked off with little numbered tents. 

But they stop before the stairs, and well before the elevator. In fact, there’s a slightly larger stain where they end. 

“Hey guys!”

Malcolm calls out, looking around him.

There’s seemingly nothing out of place, no doors near where the trail ends. The walls are clean, the pictures look undisturbed if the dust on the edges and on the walls is anything to go by.

JT makes his way over to where Malcolm is standing. “You alright, bro?”

“Did the uniforms clear this whole floor?” He asks the detective, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

“Of course they did. And CSU’s been here for almost an hour. Why?”

Something is wrong. This drop is out of place. It shouldn’t just  _ end  _ like this. He looks up and notes, with dismay, that a ceiling tile is slightly out of place, just a hint of darkness around the edge. 

“What about up there?”

JT goes for his gun instantly, which is a huge comfort to Malcolm, knowing that the detective trusts him enough to act on his instincts like this. 

Before either of them can move, however, the tile crumbles into a rain of dust and debris, a large man shouting on his way down through it. 

Malcolm goes to dive out of the way, tries to move.

But he’s so tired, he can’t move fast enough, can’t react fast enough. 

Everything goes blurry for him as he hits the ground, a sharp sting of pain radiating out of his shoulder as the wind is knocked out his chest. 

There are shouts all around him, calls for backup, the firing of a gun. 

But he can’t make any of it out. 

No voices are clear enough.

He doesn’t know who is doing what, who says anything to him. Some come closer. Someone is shouting. There’s a ringing in his ears and so much pain. It’s not the worst pain he’s ever felt, but it burns, in his shoulder, in his head.

His stomach clenches and he curls up around it.

Then the shouting stops.

The light disappears.

And he sleeps.

  
  
  
  


“Can you hear me, Mr. Bright?”

Malcolm blinks rapidly at the light being shone in his eyes. It’s a small pen light, and he tries to raise his hand to knock it away but he’s attached to something. So he lifts his other hand but despite it being free, he’s too weak to really get anywhere with it.

“Mr. Bright?”

“Mmm?” He blinks again and the world starts to slowly come into focus. 

There are two people on either side of his bed. Medical personnel. Maybe a doctor and a nurse judging by their clothes. He didn’t expect to wake up in a hospital but then again he almost never does no matter how often he winds up there. 

“What’s going on?”

“You were attacked at a crime scene, Mr. Bright. Do you remember that?” The woman speaking has on a white coat. Doctor, then. The name on her front pocket isn’t quite clear enough for him to make out though. 

He nods. That much he does remember. He remembers the pain in his shoulder as well and looks down to his left, noting a neat row of several stitches. It doesn’t even really hurt any more.

So why is he lying in a hospital bed attached to an IV?

And what is that incessant whooshing noise.

It’s faster than his heart rate monitor. 

“Good, excellent. How does your head feel? They weren’t sure if you hit it in the impact.”

“My head is fine. I mean, besides the usual dizziness lately.” He adds. “Nothing new, I guess.”

The doctor nods and then gestures to the nurse who marks something down on a chart. “That’s to be expected, unfortunately.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she sighs and shakes her head. “Where do I start? You’re severely dehydrated, malnourished, anemic…” When she comes around to the side of the bed rather than staying at the foot of it her tag comes into focus and he can finally give her a name. Dr. Caldwell. Good. Right.

“Dr. Caldwell, I’m sure I just need a little rest and some supplements. Is all this really necessary?”

“I’m afraid it is. Based on the information Lieutenant Arroyo gave us when they brought you in here you’ve been out of sorts for a while now?”

Malcolm nods, slowly. He doesn’t need his head spinning again. That will just make him throw up and get them to try and keep him here longer.

“Dizzy, throwing up, back aches, tired for seemingly no reason?”

“Well,” Malcolm scoffs, “not  _ no  _ reason. I don’t get much sleep to begin with. I guess it just caught up with me.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Dr. Caldwell takes a deep breath and places a gentle hand on Malcolm’s wrist. Which is just… weird, but okay.

“Mr. Bright. Were you aware that you’re pregnant?” 

Malcolm takes a deep breath.

Surely he just heard wrong. 

He blinks at the doctor in confusion and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard that correctly.”

“You are pregnant. At least eight weeks based on your blood tests but I’d hazard a guess you’re a bit further along than that.”

“Wh- How- Um. No. No, that’s not possible.” Something feels like it’s pressing down on his chest and Malcolm’s having a hard time catching his breath. Suddenly everything’s going blurry again, like before. He’s dizzy, spiraling. He needs to get out of here. He can’t hear this. It’s not right. “I can’t be. I’m on… I’m on birth control? I’m on half a dozen medications that make it so.. so…” Malcolm tries to inhale but he can’t. It’s  _ dangerous.  _ For him, for a… for a… he can’t even think it. 

“Mr. Bright.” There are hands on his shoulder. Someone touches his chest. They’re speaking to him. He knows it. He can hear their voices but can’t make out their words. His head is screaming at him, a pain in his chest tearing through his body, trying to will itself out through a scream, through a wail of terror and agony. 

_ Gil. _

He needs Gil. He needs to hear him. He needs to grab onto him and not let go. He can’t do this. This can’t be real. This isn’t real. He’s hallucinating again. He needs to wake up. He feels himself shout but doesn’t hear it. He needs to wake up. He needs Gil to wake him up.

This isn’t real.

  
  
  
  
  


Nobody likes hospitals. 

Gil rather despises this hospital in particular. He’s been here too many times waiting for news on those he loves. 

Something is wrong with Malcolm - physically - he knows it. It’s tearing him up inside that he hadn’t pushed harder for him to get help sooner. Maybe they wouldn’t be here now, maybe Malcolm wouldn’t have been too slow to dodge their killer. Maybe he wouldn’t have passed out for seemingly no reason. He’d had such a weak pulse, such shallow breath. Gil had ached to hold him, to comfort him.

For now, he paces.

And he waits.

“Gil!”

Jessica’s shout is followed by the clack of her heels on the cold linoleum floor. He turns just in time to hold out his hands and grab her by the shoulders before she runs into him.

“Where is he? What’s going on?”

“Jessica,”

“All Detective Powell told me was that he was injured at a crime scene. Is he alright?”

“Jessica,” Gil tries again “he was injured at a scene, yes. But not badly - nowhere near life threatening.” He assures her. “During the scuffle with the suspect he went unconscious. JT thinks he might have hit his head but,” Gil trails off, guilt eating at him for what he’s sure is the truth. That Malcolm is sick, that something far worse than a bump to the head is wrong. And on top of all that, that he is so used to picking his battles, not rocking the boat in their relationship that could easily become imbalanced, that he never said anything. 

“But what? Gil, what is it?”

“I think he’s sick. He’s been,” Gil sighs, defeated, “out of sorts lately.”

“He hasn’t seemed any worse than usual to me. Not that he’s a picture of health to begin with.”

“Jess - I work with him. I see Malcolm...”  _ Every day. Every night. Every morning. _ “A lot. Something is going on and we just have to wait a little while longer to find out what.”

She covers her face in her hands for a moment before taking a deep breath. “If you’re noticing it, this is really bad. He’s so good at hiding from everyone.”

“I know. I -”

The waiting room door swings open, interrupting him as two nurses come from the back. One of them is the intake nurse he had spoken to earlier. She heads straight for them. “Lieutenant Arroyo?”

Jessica turns on the nurses. “What’s wrong?”

But the one speaking looks at Gil. They both look frazzled, in a hurry. “Do you know anyone named Gil?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” He says while Jessica looks on, puzzled.

“He’s asking for you. Can you go with Nancy?” She gestures to the woman with her who waves them back. He moves instantly, worried by the concern on both their faces.

“What is going on?” Jessica raises her voice, trying to go with them. “I’m his mother. I want to see my son.”

“Ma’am. You’ll have to wait here, just until -”

She keeps shouting, “No! Absolutely not. You will tell me…” but Gil is already gone and through the doors.

“What’s wrong?” He asks once they’re beyond the doors, moving at a quick pace down the halls.

“He’s having a panic attack.” The nurse tells him, taking him through another set of double doors. Gil’s heart does a flip in his chest and a dozen possibilities go through his head all at once. Did he wake up from a nightmare? Did they give him something that is keeping him from feeling one hundred percent lucid? Did he try and hurt himself? “Normally we’d give him something to help bring him down but we can’t.”

Gil doesn’t ask any further questions, just walks faster until they reach a door that’s half open. As soon as he pushes through he can hear Malcolm arguing unintelligibly with someone and a female voice speaking in a calming manner in an attempt to help him down. It takes a few steps into the room before he can see the bed but Malcolm is shaking his head and trying to push people away. 

He’s at the bedside in an instant and he can tell the second Malcolm registers that he’s there. Everything changes and he latches onto Gil who has to be careful of several wires that come from beneath the blanket covering Malcolm. He clings to Gil, arms never really still, trying to find a hold that will help comfort him. Gil holds him close, forces himself to remain steady. To be his rock.

“I’m sorry.” Malcolm’s voice is broken, the tears he’s been shedding obvious in more than just his face. “I’m so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Breathe with me, baby. Come on.” Gil puts his hand on the back of Malcolm’s neck and the younger man almost instantly deflates. In Gil’s arms Malcolm finally takes a long, deep breath, then lets it go, his whole body shaking with it. 

“I’m too broken.” He whispers into Gil’s shoulder. “Too medicated. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s not going to last.. It’s not… I can’t…” Something twists in Gil’s stomach as Malcolm’s words really start to register. He doesn’t know what to think about it all, doesn’t know what to make of it. 

But he needs to know for sure before he lets his own panic take hold.

“Doctor?”

Dr. Caldwell steps close again. Her voice is soft. “Mr. Bright, can we?”

“Yes.” Malcolm nods without looking up. “He’s… it’s his.”

“Oh god.” Gil can feel his heart in his throat. He knows what that means. He has to blink back his own tears and count his breaths. Panicking now won’t help Malcolm, won’t help him find his calm again. 

“Mr. Bright is pregnant.”

Hearing it out loud is vastly different from a vague understanding based on all the context clues. It’s like a punch to the gut. His brain tries to short circuit and he replays those words over and over again.  _ Bright is pregnant. Pregnant.  _

The man he loves, the man he sleeps beside almost every night, the man he lives for day after day after day is carrying a child.

Their child.

It takes him a minute, but he nods.

“I got that, thanks.” Gil swallows. There’s so much to take in here he’s almost not sure where to start. But he needs to talk about this.

Alone.

“Is he stable?” He asks the doctor.

“Yes, though he’ll need to be on that IV for at least twenty-four hours. He’s severely dehydrated, among a host of other issues, but the baby’s heartbeat is strong.”

“Good that’s…” God. The constant sickness, the exhaustion. He’s fucking  _ lost weight _ the last few months. That can’t be good for either of them. It’s a wonder he was even standing lately. “Can we have some privacy?”

“Of course.” The Doctor says something quietly to the nurse, but Gil isn’t paying enough attention to parse it out. “We have him scheduled to go for an ultrasound in about half an hour. We’ll come get you both then.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the top of Malcolm’s hair. 

They stay there, curled together on the hospital bed, quiet, waiting. It feels like it takes ages for the two women to leave the room, to leave them in their tentative, cracked sense of peace. Quiet. 

Save for the gentle rhythmic whooshing sound from one of the monitors filling the room.

Eventually, when Malcolm’s breathing seems to slow enough he can talk without having to constantly gasp for air, Gil speaks.

“Malcolm. Hey, baby. Look at me.” Malcolm sniffs and looks up, his tear streaked face red and puffy. It’s the most color he’s had on him in weeks. “Tell me what’s going through your head.”

He’s still shaking in Gil’s arms. But he nods, and looks like he’s steeling himself for something. “I’m - I’m terrified, Gil,” he admits, voice quiet and small.

“Well, we’re in that boat together, at least.”

A sad smile breaks across Malcolm’s face for a heart beat and then vanishes again. His blue eyes glassy with more unshed tears and Gil reaches up to cradle his face, brush his thumb across his red cheek. “Beyond the fact that I am way too psychologically fucked up to be anything resembling a good parent. That doesn’t even touch on how destroyed my body is from years of medications - some of which I still take and cause serious issues!” He moves like he’s going to put a hand over his stomach, over where their baby is. But he stops mid motion and shakes his head, lips trembling. “My body isn’t safe for a baby.”

Gil never thought he’d have this conversation. Isn’t prepared for it. But he has to. He has to make sure they’re on the same page here. “Okay. Let’s - let’s take a step back and start over with the most important question.” He makes sure Malcolm is looking at him, that they’re speaking clearly to one another.

“Do you want this?”

He tries desperately not to fear the answer.

“I - huh.” Malcolm blinks. “I think, I don’t think, I know. If this was happening with literally anyone else that answer would be an easy no. But with you…”

Gil cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Don’t make this decision for me, Malcolm. This is about what you want.”

“It’s not.” Malcolm assures him with a soft smile. “Not FOR you, anyway. But because of you. Because I love you. Because you love me. And because I know that not just because you say it all the time but because you mean it. You show me day after day after day. God, I love you so much. Before, before everything became extra complicated when I moved back to New York I used to want - I still want - a future with you. In my wildest fantasies we had a family - adopted. Not that anyone would ever approve me for adoption which is why that part was fantasy but still, everything else.” 

_ Everything else. _

And there is  _ so much  _ that encompases. A future. A life together. Gil has been counting his blessings over and over just to have this much, what they’ve had. To be able to hold Malcolm late at night, to have someone to care for again, to have someone care so deeply for him. It’s not something he’d ever thought he’d have after he lost Jackie. But then, that evening he’d come to visit from DC, the night everything changed, he wasn’t alone any more. Neither of them were. And they had worked  _ hard  _ to make it work. Gone through so much, so many discussions and arguments to make sure they were both comfortable, both going the same direction, both expecting the same things from their tentative relationship. And for so long, that had been companionship. But expectations and desires aren’t always the same thing.

They’d never talked about the future.

They’d never talked about forever. 

Gil, hand still resting on Malcolm’s cheek, guides the younger man into a slow, tender kiss. It’s soft and gentle, both men simply seeking the comfort of something so intimately familiar between them. Out of everything that has flipped their world upside down in the last ten minutes, this is still the same. 

Malcolm still tastes the same, his lips chapped but familiar. He still sniffles and his lips twitch when Gil’s facial hair tickles at his upper lip. 

They still have each other. 

“I love you so much, Malcolm.” Gil says, not pulling away at all, words a ghost against Malcolm’s lips. “And I never even thought that this - that we could…” He rests his brow against the younger man’s. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together. I wasn’t going anywhere before and I sure as hell am not now. It’s not going to be easy…”

“Understatement of the century,” Malcolm smirks.

“But we’ll do it together. No matter what happens,” Gil assures him. 

When Malcolm kisses him again Gil lets himself get lost in it, lets Malcolm lead and take them as long as he needs. 

A thought crosses Gil’s mind and he groans, running his fingers through Malcolm’s hair. “You know you need to tell your mother before we tell literally anyone else.”

Malcolm slumps against Gil’s chest and exaggerates a whine. “Can I have just one day?” But then he rolls back up, a smile suddenly taking over his entire face. “Oh! Plus side! I can finally ask you to move in!”

That brings Gil up short. Malcolm’s loft is a bachelor pad through and through. It fits him perfectly but it’s not some place Gil has ever thought of as a home unless Malcolm was in it. “I don’t know…” 

“Come on, you practically live with me already.” Malcolm gives him  _ that look _ . The look that always gets Gil in fucking trouble. The one he has never  _ ever  _ been able to say no to. The  _ worst  _ part is, he isn’t planning on saying no. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. And he’s still feeling the butterflies in his stomach at the glint in Malcolm’s eyes, the slight pout on his perfectly pink lips. 

“I was thinking we could find a new place together,” Gil offers. 

“That is... oh!” Malcolm’s whole face lights up even further. “We could buy a place! In the city. Something with a view.”

“How will we ever be able to afford it?”

“I think I know a guy.” 

Malcolm’s laugh is bright and beautiful, reaching out to Gil’s soul as a soothing balm from the last crazy few minutes. Gil reaches out, cautious, and places a hand over Malcolm’s middle. The monitor attached there is a slight bump, but he moves until he can lay his hand out flat. Malcolm looks down, his smile fading into something more cautious but no less warm. When he places a hand over Gil’s, the older man’s heart soars. 

With their hands entwined over the life they’ve created together, Gil leans in to kiss the man he loves. 

After a few long and uncounted moments, Gil pulls back. There are still streaks of tears on Malcolm’s face and he can’t have that. With another quick kiss to his cheek, Gil stands, heading towards the sink at the far side of the room to find a paper towel or rag he can wet to help Malcolm clean himself up. 

When he gets to the other side, however, Jessica steps completely into the room, her face pinched in anger and fury. 

Gil barely has time to register that she’s there before his face is on fire from the hard slap she lands on his right side. 

“What…”

“Mother!” 

Jessica is almost shaking with rage and Gil can see the flames of it in her eyes.

“How  _ dare _ you.” Her voice is low and dark.

“Jessica, let me…”

“No. You don’t get to do anything, Gil.”

“How much did you hear?” He asks, ignoring her words.

“Enough. You, you’re… I can’t believe the only good thing I thought he had left in his life was just another  _ monster  _ waiting in the shadows.”

He’d known this was coming, one day. Only he’d hoped that Malcolm would have the chance to talk to her first… had begged him to do it before they lost the chance. And now they had. Gil takes a deep, steadying breath to quell the frustration he feels. There’s too much going on right now to let that take over, to worry about I told you so’s or getting angry over things it’s officially too late to go back and change. Gil closes his eyes and focuses on the soft sound of the heart rate monitor filling the room. It’s better than any calming technique he’s ever used.

Quietly, he steps back. “You should talk to your son.”

“And you should leave. Now.” She’s standing as tall and proud as he’s ever seen her, cutting a fierce figure. Jessica Whitly never backs down when she feels like she’s in the right, and sometimes even after she realizes she’s wrong. 

“Gil’s not going anywhere,” Malcolm says unapologetically from the bed. Gil sees the fierce look of determination on his face, the way he’s straightened up to meet his mother head to head. He feels a swell of pride at the sight. 

“Malcolm, sweetheart,” Jessica makes her way to his bedside and reaches for Malcolm, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know you probably can’t see this right now but...”

“Mother, stop. I am 32 years old,” he tells her. “I am not a child.”

Her jaw drops. “You are MY child.”

“I am an adult with my own thoughts, feelings, desires, and my own ability to make decisions for myself. Good or bad!” Malcolm takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Gil can see the way his hand is starting to shake. Normally, he’d have to watch in pained silence. Like all those months they’ve been working together where Malcolm broke down in the office and Gil kept his distance, watching as Malcolm fell apart. But not any more. 

_ Everything  _ is different now. 

Gil steps up to the other side of the bed and takes Malcolm’s trembling hand in his. When Malcolm squeezes him tight and spares a fleeting, but grateful smile, Gil knows he made the right decision. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” Malcolm continues, looking up at his mother “but I will give you this. We’ve been together just over two years. It didn’t start until a year after Jackie died when I came home to visit.”

Jessica keeps flicking back and forth between worry and homicidal fury when she looks between the two of them. She settles on her son, somewhere in between.

“But how?”

“That’s all you’re getting on that. We didn’t tell you because I was the one who didn’t want to tell you. Because I knew you’d react badly. Like this.” Malcolm squeezes Gil’s hand again, then lets out a humorless laugh. “Gil insisted the longer we waited the worse it would be. Turns out, he was right.” He looks up at Gil, almost apologetically. “He usually is about those things.”

As much of an asshole as Gil can be when he flies off the handle, he promises himself right there and then he’ll never bring up an I told you so over this. Not just because of everything between them, but the look of pain in his eyes at the distance it’s causing between him and his mother. Yes, Gil had been right. But being right is still painful as hell.

“I don’t like this, Malcolm.” 

“I know you don’t. But you’re going to have to get used to it.”

Jessica scoffs and shakes her head. “I really don’t.”

“Mother. Stop. Take a deep breath and just  _ listen  _ for a moment.”

“I am listening.”

“No,  _ listen.” _

She sighs, but closes her mouth and Gil realizes what Malcolm is going for.

The soft, subtle, almost wet whooshing sound of the fetal heart rate monitor takes up the space their argument had been filling. It’s such a simple sound, yet so life changing. 

Gil counts down from ten.

Jessica’s jaw drops with a gasp at seven.

She blinks rapidly, bringing a hand to her chest while catching her breath. Her mouth opens and closes several times while she looks Malcolm over, looks them both over, then zeroes in on the monitor she can see behind Gil’s left. 

“I’m…” She can’t seem to formulate words and tears are already pooling in her eyes. “I’m going to be a grandmother?”

Gil bites back on a sarcastic comment while Malcolm rolls his eyes, appearing to do the same. 

“Yes, mother.”

She seems to completely forget Gil is even in the room for a moment. “How long have you known!” She nearly shouts at Malcolm, pulling her hand back like she wants to hit him in the arm but thinks better of it. “Why did you keep this from me? How far along are you? What have you been doing?  _ Why were you at a crime scene!”  _ With every question she seems more and more scandalized. “Taking my grandchild to those dangerous places when you should be taking care of yourself.” 

Though he’d put up a good fight to begin with, his mother’s words reflecting some of Malcolm’s own fears seem to make him draw back in on himself. He hunches, just enough to be noticed, and won’t look back up at either of them. 

Malcolm can fight his own fights, but he doesn’t  _ have  _ to do it alone.

“Jessica.” Gil’s tone is firm, forcing her attention on him.

“And you!” She starts, pointing at him over the bed, fire back in her eyes. “You  _ let him.  _ You  _ lied to me  _ out there in that waiting room. And now, not only are you putting my son in constant danger, keeping him in this wretched line of employment, but now his child too? When does it end Gil? That’s not even starting on the fact that,”

“ _ Jessica! _ ” He catches her attention properly this time, louder than he ever is with her and she blinks at him in shock. “We found out about ten minutes ago,” Gil says rather pointedly. “I didn’t lie to you in the waiting room because  _ I didn’t know.  _ I had no idea, and neither did Malcolm.”

“But you said he’d been sick.”

“Because that’s what I thought it was. That something was wrong, not that something was…”  _ so right.  _ He thinks, not completing that sentence out loud. He hasn’t had time to parse through any of this, to really work it out. All Gil knows right now is that he’s going to chase the high of excitement before reality comes crashing down on them sooner, rather than later. 

And he knows it will, because it always does.

Malcolm looks up at his mother with wide, pleading eyes. “Mom, please.”

“Oh, baby,” she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just… I worry about you so much. All day.  _ Every day.  _ And every night. God. I never want anything bad to happen to you after all you’ve been through but it seems like that’s all that ever happens and it kills me.”

“This isn’t a bad thing, Mom. I promise.” He reaches for her hand and guides her to rest it over his stomach. There’s no proper swell there, though there probably should be. But it’s the gentle motion, the acceptance of her in this space, that counts. “I love Gil. And this, us, the…” Malcolm swallows hard and it kills Gil to see him still struggling to admit this out loud. “This isn’t a bad thing. Not an accident, or unwanted, just… unexpected.” He holds his hand over Jessica’s and begs her. “Please be happy for us.”

The silence that settles around them is tense, a precarious peace brokered by the existence of the new life growing in Malcolm. Gil knows that if it weren’t for that, Jessica would already be raking him over hot coals, physically and metaphorically. But now, she has to hold back. She’s not dumb - quite the opposite. Jessica knows what will happen if she forces this issue, if she does anything that will make Malcolm choose between her and Gil. Gil knows too. And though he hopes he knows what Malcolm would do, neither option ends well. 

“Mr. Bright?” The nurse that had brought Gil back here makes her way into the room, interrupting the silence of their truce. “We’re ready for you upstairs.”

Jessica takes a step back and dabs at her tears. “Where are you going now?”

“I’m not sure,” Malcolm looks up at Gil, a question in his eyes. 

“Ultrasound.” He supplies, knowing Malcolm had been a little out of it when the doctor and nurse had left earlier. 

Malcolm looks up at Jessica with a soft, sad smile. “Wait for us, Mom. We promise to bring you the best picture they take.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Malcolm lays back on the bed as the nurse pushes him through the hall, staring up at the ceiling tiles as they roll by. Gil walks at his side, silent, but comfortable. His IV is attached to the bed and he watches the bag, the steady drip drip drip as it sways lightly with the steady movement. He has no idea what is in store for him in a few minutes, what they’ll see, what they’ll find. His fears that had clutched their claws into his chest when he had first learned of the baby threaten to return, the gentle but sharp scrape at the edge of his mind. Just because there’s a heartbeat doesn’t mean everything is okay, doesn’t mean he hasn’t screwed everything up, that he isn’t about to put himself and Gil through a whole lot of pain. 

In the elevator Gil grabs his hand and squeezes tight.

“Whatever happens up there,” he kisses Malcolm’s hand then leans down and kisses his temple as well, “I love you. And none of this is on you, got it?”

_ God, he loves this man.  _

Malcolm nods, taking in a shaky breath. Somehow Gil always knows when he’s slipping, when he’s looking into the darkness and can’t find a way out.

“What would I do without you?” He asks, sincere and heartfelt.

But Gil smirks. “Probably have to put up with your mother a whole hell of a lot more.”

That pulls a bark of a laugh from Malcolm, for which he is incredibly grateful. 

When the elevator dings and the doors slide open into a silent hallway Gil doesn’t drop his hand. He holds him tight, and keeps pace as they move on.

The room with the ultrasound machine is dark with just a small, low watt lamp standing in the corner. Sitting on a stool in the center of the room the tech gives them a warm smile while the nurse gets Malcolm’s bed situated. 

“Mr. Bright, yes?”

“Last time I checked.”

“And you’re the other father?” He asks, smiling at Gil.

Malcolm watches as Gil’s face goes a little slack with shock, blinking at being called a father. It makes something warm spread out through Malcolm’s chest.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” Gil eventually nods while Malcolm hides his amused smile. 

“Perfect! Let’s have a look at your little one, shall we?”

The tech adjusts the blankets and Malcolm’s hospital gown until his middle is exposed, careful of the IV line. Malcolm jerks at the icy cold gel that gets spread across his stomach and bites back on a curse that Gil apparently finds funny as hell if his shaking shoulders are anything to go by.

“Laugh it up. Next time I need to wake you up I’m doing it with ice.” He’d threaten him with cold toes if he could, but Malcolm’s never been the cold one in his life. 

Gil’s smile doesn’t go anywhere as he gently takes Malcolm’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m taking my amusement while I can, baby. From now on I’ll probably be spending most of my life more worried than I’ve ever been.”

The tech stays silent while he presses the imaging wand against Malcolm’s skin, starting to move carefully around. Malcolm squeezes Gil’s hand. “You’ll have a full head of grey in no time.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

“Alright, gentlemen. Let’s see who we’ve got here.”

Both men snap their attention to the large monitor beside them, watching as the black and white static slowly becomes something recognizable. Malcolm holds his breath, squeezing Gil’s hand far harder than he intends. But Gil doesn’t seem to notice, too focused right where Malcolm is, on the grey, fuzzy blob that suddenly looks like a— 

It’s a baby.

Their baby.

Malcolm huffs out in disbelief, chest shaking as he tries to hold back a fresh set of tears. 

“That’s…” He still can’t say it.

“ _ Malcolm.” _ Gil’s voice is as shaken as Malcolm feels, squeezing the younger man’s hand back just as hard. 

Suddenly everything is real. 

There’s a head and a nose and a chin. It’s got thin little legs and tiny little feet. He has no idea where the development should be but he can see faint little dots where the toes are either going to be or are already growing. That’s growing inside of him, with a mouth and hands and a brain. He and Gil did this, made this life. And it’s there, right on the screen.

Alive.

“How far along is he?” Gil says after Malcolm is quiet for a long time. 

The tech pushes a button on the massive equipment and the image freezes for a moment. He fiddles a bit and a few measurement lines show up here and there, taking image after image while humming in thought. It seems surreal, as he continues to move the wand about, getting as many angles as he can, pushing buttons to make sure they capture it all.

“We’re too late in the term to do highly accurate dating based on size, but based on development - we’ve got some bones growing in there - it looks like your right around 13 or 14 weeks.”

That’s… that’s far. Malcolm blinks in shock, trying to mentally go back through what he’s been doing for three entire months. 

Everything goes hazy for a minute until Gil puts his hand on the back of Malcolm’s neck. 

“Malcolm, breathe.”

He takes in a deep breath, ignoring the tear falling down his own cheek. 

Gil doesn’t. Gil swipes it gently with his thumb and presses a kiss to the top of Malcolm’s head.

Malcolm swallows. “Is it healthy?”

“Honestly, Mr. Bright, I don’t see anything that raises any red flags. Everything is progressing as expected. No abnormalities, nothing that would indicate any placental problems. We’ll pass the scans on to an OB and have them give you an official due date, though I can tell you you’re looking at early November.”

“Wow.”

“And if you’re concerned about any other possible issues you can always talk about doing a blood screening test.” He takes a moment to get everything cleaned up on both the equipment and Malcolm before handing him a long, plasticy black and white print out.

Proof.

In his hands.

“Gil.” His voice is nearly a whisper in the darkness and he doesn’t even notice the technician leaving the room.

“I’m right here.” He is. He’s right there. At Malcolm’s side. Like he always is.

“I know.” Malcolm swallows, unable to take his eyes off the images in his hands. “That’s… that’s our baby.”

“Yeah, kid. Yeah it is.”

For now, Malcolm thinks, maybe it will all be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, part two.   
> This is set near the end of the pregnancy and is really just another story in that timeline. Enjoy?

If he hadn’t already resigned himself to never being a parent and therefore never having a large family, pregnancy would have put Malcolm off the idea of any more children  _ forever.  _ There is no glow, no peaceful excitement, no giddiness. He hates it. Almost everything about it. He gets taken off all his medications except his SSRI, he goes back into the hospital for fluids three more times over the next five months, and he hurts and aches  _ everywhere.  _

The only upsides are Gil and when he feels their daughter moving around. Well, as long as she isn’t using his insides as a punching bag. Which is usually about a 50/50 shot.

Unless he’s trying to sleep.

Then he might as well be carrying a professional boxer.

“You know,” Malcolm lets the door slam behind him as he gets into his loft. “If I don’t get them to remove my ability to ever carry another child when the princess is born I may never let you touch me again.”

“Welcome home.” Gil says with a smile and a kiss to Malcolm’s cheek. “I missed you too. How was your day? Dinner’s ready whenever you are and I love you very much.”

Malcolm tries exceptionally hard to not let Gil being sweet soothe his mood but he just can’t help it. The guy always knows how to cut Malcolm down to the quick. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes, unable to hold back on his own grin. “I just wish I hadn’t taken so long to finally agree to a place.” Gil has the good sense to bite his lips at that even if Malcolm can still see the laughter lighting up his eyes. “I mean, if I had just gotten over myself and agreed to the place on West Street the first time we looked at it and fell in love I could have just ridden up a really nice, really smooth elevator instead of dragging my whale of a self up three flights of stairs.” He gestures around the crowded loft. “And I wouldn’t be cramped with boxes.”

“I told you I’d get storage space,” Gil reminds him, not unkindly. Malcolm doesn’t say anything to that, just grumbles about it while tossing his coat over a random box and taking a seat at the bar where Gil has two plates of grilled chicken and asparagus waiting.

They had started house hunting three days after Malcolm was released from the hospital the first time. Gil had opinions on everything, but not very strong ones. Malcolm, on the other hand, had incredibly specific wants and needs that nothing seemed to be able to satisfy. He wanted something high up, with lots of light. They needed at least three bedrooms, preferably four so they could both have their own offices. Display cases, or places to put them, were a must. As were plenty of book shelves. He also wanted a private outdoor space. Gil asked once, and only once, why they didn’t look at houses instead of high rises. 

The thirty minute rant that had ensued about how if Malcolm’s going to own a home it will be with a proper yard and neighbors he can’t spit on so he might as well live in a skyscraper left Gil more amused than anything.

But the guy knows how to pick his battles.

And with all the shit they’ve had to go through the last six months, that was apparently  _ not fucking one of them. _

Malcolm slumps forward over his dinner, thankful that these last few weeks haven’t been quite as bad as literally every other week since even before he knew what was going on. He’s even made it a full 24 hours without losing his entire stomach contents a couple times lately. Maybe he’ll make it through the whole meal.

He has hope, but not too much.

They eat mostly in silence, Malcolm occasionally rolling his head to stretch out his tired and aching neck. Thankfully, he actually does manage to get most of the food down. It’s light fare, but he’d kept the protein shake down from after lunch too so he’s not too worried about his overall nutrition input. For now.

When he rolls his head around again, he adds in a curl of his shoulders and stretches his back which pops noisily in several places. A second later Gil’s hands are firm on his shoulders, his fingers digging into tight, over tense muscles along the top and then down his back. He kisses the side of Malcolm’s neck and the younger man tilts his head for him, allows him whatever he wants in his constant need to take care of him. 

“Why don’t we get you out of those clothes and over to the bed? I can rub your back then spend a little time soothing the princess with the cocoa butter.” 

Malcolm hums his acceptance, sliding off the bar stool with his eyes half closed. After the day he’s had, he needs Gil; he needs his touch and the tenderness he brings. He loves the way Gil touches him, has always touched him when they were alone. Now, he never seems to be able to keep his hands off Malcolm and he’s not about to start complaining about it. Malcolm had never been a very tactile person, but Gil was from the start. And once their relationship had become something deeper, something more intimate, Malcolm had realized just how much that had been missing from his life. 

They make it over to the bed together, both of them stripping down to their underwear and leaving their clothes in a neat little pile just on the floor beside it. 

Malcolm can’t lay on his front anymore, the princess has seen to that. But he has a comically large body pillow that he can curl up in his lap and lean forward against while Gil sits behind him. He’s basically in Gil’s lap and honestly, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Are we going to be ready for the movers in three days?” Gil asks while rubbing his hand together to warm up the massage oil before putting his hands on Malcolm’s bare skin. This time, he starts at the small of Malcolm’s back, a firm, long drawn out press from the base of his spine out to his sides. He repeats the motion, over and over again, drawing out the long tightly held knots that seem to reform within hours after he’s done every time. 

It sends pulses of warmth through Malcolm’s body. Not just from the relaxation he gets in his muscles, but from the contact, from the attention. 

“Paint’s all dry and they’re finishing the shelves tomorrow. Unless something else breaks - “

“Please don’t jinx us again.”

“...then we’ll be living there by this time next week.” Malcolm assures him with a quiet laugh. 

“Hmm.” Gil presses several kisses to the back of Malcolm’s neck, working his hands up higher and higher up his back. “And what about your doctor’s appointment?”

That hadn't gone as well as the check up on the condo, but it wasn’t the worst one he’s ever had. Malcolm takes a deep breath and shivers at the feel of Gil’s whiskers on his sensitive skin and let’s himself float along with the sensations for a moment before answering. 

“It was… okay.” He admits eventually.

He can feel the tension in Gil’s hands at his answer but it disappears quickly. Gil is not as good as he thinks he is about hiding his own worries while soothing Malcolm’s. “Just okay?”

“She failed her fetal stress test again so we had to do another ultrasound. Still a girl, by the way.”

Behind him, Gil laughs. “I still don’t know why you ask every time.”

“I don’t know, I just like to know that my expectations will be met. We don’t know anything about her. What she looks like, what she’ll be like, who she’ll take after more. But, just, that one thing. A girl. I like to know.”

Gil apologizes - though he doesn’t need to - with a soft kiss at the nape of Malcolm’s neck that sends a shiver down his slowly relaxing spine. 

“Alright baby, I get it. And what about the sonogram?” Gil moves from the space between Malcolm’s shoulder blades up to the base of his neck, switching from long strokes of the heel of his hand to deep presses of his fingertips. Malcolm can’t hold back the groan and sinks back into his touch even further. 

“Better.” He says on a sigh. “We’re far enough along that we’re mostly safe to deliver if anything else happens or they get too worried. She’s still small but developed enough to have a good chance. Dr. Meints wants her to cook a little more for the next few weeks but we shouldn’t have to worry about too many issues if that doesn’t work out.”

Gil slumps forward against Malcolm’s back, wrapping his arms around his middle, around their baby. “Thank god.” He nuzzles into Malcolm’s neck and he can almost feel the relief radiating off the older man. 

It’s been such a difficult pregnancy, from even before they knew about her. When Malcolm spent months thinking he was just getting ill, that something was going wrong with his medications or something far worse even. It hadn’t gotten better once they did know. In fact, Malcolm - at first - had wanted to have several words with the people who always said the second trimester was the easiest. Especially his mother.  _ Oh, you’re already out of the woods, isn’t that wonderful?  _ She’d said showing up to his loft after he’d spent the last thirty minutes hunched over the toilet. Apparently, he was one of the lucky ones that just stayed sick the entire time. And every time he had to be admitted to the hospital and hooked up to an IV for fluids and nutrients to keep him and the princess from dehydrating and wasting away, Gil’s wrinkles grew a little deeper and he sprouted more grey hairs. 

Malcolm still wonders if anything in his life will ever be easy.

Gil’s hands begin to roam on Malcolm’s bare belly, tracing lines and shapes and letters. Every now and then he’ll give him a soft, slow push that the princess will kick back against. Like this, in the silence and wrapped up so intimately, just the three of them, Malcolm can see the draw of being pregnant. Sharing this with the man he loves. He doesn’t even mind the elbow (or is it a knee?) that gets his bladder at one point.

“You ready to lay down, baby?” Gil presses soft kisses at Malcolm’s pulse point, sending a shiver down his spine. 

In answer, Malcolm tosses the body pillow to the side of the bed and shifts around so that he can lean back and stretch out. He feels blissfully relaxed for the first time in days and sinks into the mattress, letting himself be guided around by Gil’s firm but gentle touch. 

After Malcolm is settled in, Gil wipes his hands on the small towel on the nightstand and switches the oil out for the cocoa butter. He shifts back so that he’s on his knees, straddling Malcolm’s legs.

Gil starts just below Malcolm’s chest, placing kisses to his stomach while he rubs in a thin layer of the slick lotion. His movements are similar to how he does this every night, but something feels different.  _ Malcolm  _ feels different. He notices the lingering way Gil’s fingers trail over the dark line going from his belly button to his groin, how they tease up the stretched taught, sensitive skin near his hips and around his sides. He feels the want, the desire in the way Gil kisses the bump, in the way he holds him. 

Malcolm feels warmth begin to pool in his belly, his own desire sparking and fanning to life for the first time in what feels like ages. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby. Always. And especially like this.”

“Gil…” Malcolm rocks his hips up just a touch, just enough to draw attention to the growing tightness in his underwear. 

“We don’t have to.” Gil assures him.

“I know. I want you.” Malcolm can’t swallow the tightness in his throat, the fear there. “If you still want me.”

Gil surges up to capture Malcolm's lips in his own with a fierce and possessive kiss. Where their bodies are pressed together, Malcolm can feel his cock pressing against him, hard and heavy, damp. “Fuck, Malcolm,” he breathes out in the tiny gap between them. “I always want you, baby. All the time.” Gil reaches down between them and strokes Malcolm through his underwear, bringing him to full hardness as he rocks slowly against him. “I wish you knew what you did to me. How hard I get just thinking about you sometimes.” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been…”

“No. No, baby. I love you, Malcolm. No matter what.”

“Fuck me, Gil.”

Their kiss becomes filthy, messy. A tangle of lips and teeth and tongue that’s desperate and unfocused but so needy. Malcolm drowns in it, loses himself to it, is so distracted just at the heat of their kiss that he doesn’t even notice when Gil gets them both free of their underwear. Not until a callused hand wraps around his bare cock, gently stroking with feather light touches. 

He gets so lost in the haze of wanting that he gasps in shock when slick fingers tease against the tight rim of his entrance. Gil circles him several times, pressing just against him, never quite giving Malcolm what he wants, what he needs. It’s been so long, too long. Malcolm isn’t ashamed at the whine that slips from between his lips, high pitched and needy. 

“Please…” He breathes out on the edge of begging already. 

Gil kisses down Malcolm’s jaw to just below his ear, along the tendon of his neck then works his teeth and tongue in his most sensitive spot just as he slips his finger past the tight ring of muscle. The onslaught of sensations from the mark Gil is working into his skin and the intrusion into his body make him writhe, his whole form curling against the bed. 

He opens Malcolm slowly, carefully. It’s a long practiced art and Gil knows how to press every single one of Malcolm’s buttons, how to curl his fingers, how hard and how fast to fuck into him, where to put his mouth, when to give him more. After Gil brings him right to the edge with just his fingers buried deep inside Malcolm’s body, he finally slows down.

But Malcolm stops him before he can shift up between Malcolm’s legs.

“I wanna ride you.” 

He’s desperate to have some control over his body again, something that he gets to dictate for once and not just happening to him.

If Gil’s deep groan and desperate kiss is anything to go by, he’s okay with that proposition. 

Gil rolls to his back, holding Malcolm’s hand while he moves to straddle the other man, looking up at him with such a soft gaze in his eyes that Malcolm has to look away for a moment to not get emotional.

“Fuck, you look so amazing,” Gil whispers out as Malcolm rocks back against him. He groans as Malcolm finally sinks down onto his cock, letting out a breathy laugh. “And you feel even better.”

He can feel the way Gil is holding himself back, aborted thrusts of his hips pushed back down against the mattress so he doesn’t give Malcolm too much too soon. And as much as Malcolm wants to be taken apart, he breathes deep, and forces himself to take this slow. At least at first. 

The stretch, the spark and tease of pain soothes out into nothing but pure bliss as he slowly sinks down. Inch after perfect inch he moves, biting his lip and never looking away from Gil. 

He makes small, deliberate rolls of his hips, never pulling up much so that he’s grinding against Gil. Gil’s hands touch him everywhere, gripping his hips, gliding along his thighs, teasing his cock. But when he begins to gently hold Malcolm’s belly, caressing it with a loving and tender touch, Malcolm can’t hold back on his emotions. The steady rise of pleasure makes his body sing, but the way Gil is looking at him, touching him, makes his chest tight and a tear fall across his cheek.

“Baby…” Gil raises up on an elbow and brushes the moisture away.

Malcolm never stops moving, reveling in the connection, in the way they feel just like this. “I love you.” He turns into Gil’s touch, kissing the palm of his hand, holding him by the wrist to keep his touch right there. 

He wants more. He wants to feel Gil’s lips on his, wants to lose himself not just in the sex but in his kiss, in the way they say so much with every glide of lips and tongue and skin. 

When he leans forward he has to put a hand out to catch himself, unable to quite go as far as he once could, his protruding belly in the way. 

Malcolm curses.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” Gil, apparently sensing Malcolm’s needs, runs a hand through his hair. “Lift up just a second, baby.” 

They move, Malcolm going pliant at Gil’s touch, leaning forward on his hands and knees.

Gil’s hands never leave Malcolm’s skin. They guide him, tease him. 

“This isn’t what I wanted. I need to kiss you.” Malcolm tries not to whine, but he aches for Gil. 

“I know. Just trust me.” From behind him Gil slides in once more and Malcolm can’t help throwing his head back at the beautiful stretch. He expects Gil to start moving again, but instead he leans forward, curls an arm around Malcolm’s chest, and bites at his shoulder before saying, “Now sit up with me.”

Together, they manage to get Malcolm upright so he’s seated firmly in Gil’s lap.

He still has control, he can still choose how to move, how fast to go.

With one hand curled around Malcolm’s belly and the other guiding him to tilt his head back Gil gives Malcolm everything he’s asked for. 

Here, just like this, Malcolm has everything he needs: Gil filling him, holding him, kissing him, loving him.

Gil still let’s Malcolm set the pace, occasionally coming up to meet his thrusts but simply along for the ride for the most part. They go slow and gentle. There is no rush, no hurry. Malcolm wants to draw this out as long as he can, memorize every slide of Gil’s cock in and out of his body. When Malcolm’s neck begins to ache he simply lays back against GIl’s shoulder, losing himself to the way Gil’s lips then attach to his skin. Gil bites and sucks, leaving marks that will be visible for days. For once, Malcolm doesn’t care. Let’s himself drift and be lost to it. 

They are pressed together in every way possible. Malcolm loves the way his back is against Gil’s chest, how he can feel his muscles move with every thrust. 

Malcolm entwines his fingers with Gil’s where they rest on his stomach then brings the other up to curl into the older man’s hair. He tilts his head, losing the ability to catch his breath when Gil wraps his long fingers around Malcolm’s cock and begins to stroke in earnest. Their lips are close, but there’s not enough focus to properly kiss. Instead, they breathe in each others’ space, ghosting against one another until the tension finally becomes too much for Malcolm’s body. 

His grip on Gil’s hand and in his hair tightens and he sucks in one last, sharp breath and holds it in his chest as he comes. Malcolm keeps his eyes open as he falls apart, watching Gil lose the last of his own control and follow him over before he’s completely spent. 

They eventually still, Malcolm with his head resting back against Gil’s shoulder while his lover kisses every inch of sensitive skin he can reach. The brush of his facial hair and the soft press of his lips has Malcolm’s over stimulated body shivering. Gil’s fingers begin to play in the quickly cooling mess on the lower curve of Malcolm’s stomach, but Malcolm reaches down and stills him, pressing Gil’s palm against the far right side where he can feel their baby retaliating for what they just did. 

Gil drops his head forward against Malcolm’s shoulder while his other arm curls around Malcolm’s chest. It’s a tight and possessive hold as they sit in the silence, and Malcolm can feel the smile against his skin. 

For a little while, he feels at peace. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Gil manages to doze peacefully until a gentle tapping against his forehead drags him from the heavy weight of sleep. He grumbles and flicks at what he assumes is Malcolm’s hand to brush him off. It’s early, too early. Their alarms haven’t gone off yet and those damn things go off way too fucking early as it is. 

When his hand hits metal instead of flesh Gil’s heart clenches in his chest.

He keeps his eyes shut for a moment longer, taking in what he knows before he faces what he fears.

It’s still dark out. There’s no sunlight bleeding through his eyelids. Malcolm is still asleep. The soft and steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath tells him that. Whatever has touched him, isn’t Malcolm. He can feel one of the younger man’s arms curled next to his where Gil holds him around the large swell of his belly. 

Another tap against his forehead.

Cold.

Metal.

Gun.

Someone is in the loft, in their home, waking him up to stare down the barrel of a gun.

Gil takes a deep breath, and pushes through his fear. 

As he had expected, there’s a round black hole right in front of his eyes as soon as he opens them. His heart rate skyrockets and his chest heaves with fear. Against his chest, Malcolm jerks, obviously noting something is wrong and beginning to move.

But Gil clamps down on his lover’s hand and says as sharply as he can, “Don’t move, baby. We have company.” 

Giving up on trying to get his breath under control Gil forces himself to focus on the person threatening them in their own bed instead of the gun pointed at his head. 

He’s an older man, vaguely familiar even in the low light that bleeds in from the city outside. Full head of brushed-back grey hair and deep set wrinkles. Gil can’t place him but he doesn’t know if that’s a product of the light, his memory, or his inability to focus on more than the fact that his and Malcolm’s lives are in very real danger.

“Time to get up, Whitly.”

Malcolm groans and, despite the dire situation, rolls his eyes.

It’s going to be one of  _ those  _ problems. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to be waking people up at such an ungodly hour?” Malcolm gripes. 

Gil’s arm around Malcolm’s middle goes stiff. “Shut. Up,” he growls low against his neck. Gil’s always hated Malcolm’s throw away jokes in life threatening situations. 

Sometimes it pays to be quiet and listen.

If he just wanted them dead, they would never have known.

They would never have woken up.

A second voice comes from behind them, near the window, and it takes a lot of willpower not to turn and try and look at that guy, too. “We have some errands to run and need your help, gentlemen.” The voice is younger than the first guy, smoother and a little more polished. But Gil doesn’t dare turn to look at him.

“And we need to get moving fairly quickly, hence the pre-dawn wake up call.” 

Gil tries to reign in his fear to get a bead on these guys. Obviously, the older one is in charge. He’s calm - they both are. They aren’t masked, and they know who Malcolm is at the very least. It’s highly likely they know Gil as well, at least by association. Even if they don’t, it doesn’t factor as much into the current situation as the fact that they have no issue with the two of them seeing exactly who they are. 

Either they don’t plan to survive whatever they’re doing, or they don’t plan on Malcolm and Gil surviving. Possibly both.

Something twists deep in Gil’s stomach when Malcolm flinches in his arms, a barely held back grunt of pain escaping into the quiet room. He squeezes Gil’s hand, hard. 

He swallows heavily, unwilling to think what that might mean right now. 

“And just what the hell do you need our help with?” He grits out, voice low and dangerous. 

The man at the window moves and Gil can’t help but flick his gaze around at the distraction. He’s backlit, a silhouette in the dim of the room. But he is just as armed as the first man. “We need to go see someone. And Whitly here is going to get us in.”

“I’m not a Whitly. I haven’t been for over a decade,” Malcolm points out, slowly shifting under the watchful gaze of both men. 

Since death isn’t on the immediate menu, Gil chances carefully sitting up - no sudden movements. Neither man lowers their weapon, but they don’t react either, which is a good thing. 

Careful not to startle either of their intruders, Gil and Malcolm both raise to a sitting position. Malcolm has his knees drawn up as far as his body allows and his arms draped over his legs while Gil keeps an arm around Malcolm’s middle. 

“You  _ are  _ his son, no matter what you call yourself. Lying to the world.” The older man’s voice is rough, an edge of anger to it that he’d hidden at first is slowly starting to seep through. “And bringing more depravity into it.” He drops the aim of his gun to where Gil’s protecting Malcolm’s belly. Malcolm has to throw a hand out to hold Gil back before he does something that will get them all killed. It’s a good thing too, because he almost did, a spike of terror nearly destroying his rational brain that keeps him still for the moment. 

But it’s too risky. 

“What do you want us to do?” Gil asks, his chest heaving with barely contained fear. 

“You,” the leader starts, pointing to Gil with his gun, “are going to stay here with Charlie over there. He’s going to make sure you don’t go running off and do anything stupid. Pretty boy here is going to take me to see the Surgeon.”

“Why?”

“No more questions.”

“But what - “

An explosion of pain bursts across the back of Gil’s head and he crumples forward, cradling his skull that already feels wet with blood. 

“Gil!” 

“Here’s how this is going to work. Charlie and the Lieutenant stay here. You and me are headed to Claremont Psychiatric. If either of you does anything to screw around or draw attention to yourselves, the other one gets punished for it.” 

Gil can barely see straight through the intense pounding in his head, but he forces himself to sit up and face the men threatening his family. He wants to say something, to ask questions, but he can’t risk Malcolm, can’t risk everything like this. 

“Okay. Okay, fine. Let me, um, let me get dressed. It takes about forty-five minutes to get there on the metro, unless you have a vehicle?” Malcolm’s voice breaks and he squeezes Gil by the shoulders. “I mean, sorry! I didn’t mean to ask anything.”

“On foot. We get there right as visiting hours open. Now get moving.” 

Over the next ten minutes or so Malcolm carefully gets dressed while both of them still have guns pointed directly in their directions. He can see the gears turning in Malcolm’s head just like his own are, trying to find a way out of this, a way they can get away with all three of them safe and sound. 

Just before the older one opens their front door both men slip blue tooth ear pieces on and establish a phone call between their cells. That explains how they’ll know if the other one has pulled anything.

But…

Claremont has a strict no phone policy for anyone except law enforcement. Even though Malcolm is a consultant with the NYPD, that has never counted for getting around regulations like that. 

There will be a window Gil can do  _ something.  _

Problem is, their captors likely know that as well and have plans.

Gil watches, helpless, as Malcolm - almost 9 months pregnant, carrying their child - walks out of the loft at gunpoint.

He’s never felt so useless in his entire life. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


The city is still dark as they start their journey. 

Malcolm has forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes before they get to Claremont. Before whatever this guy is planning gets put into action. Forty-five minutes to make his own plan.

He’s got his cell with him, but can’t risk making a text or a call. If someone calls him he  _ might  _ be able to talk the old man into letting him answer it. Maybe say something about not raising suspicion. There’s no guarantee that will happen, though it’s likely the team will miss Gil when he doesn’t show up on time. He’s notorious for being punctual no matter what. 

“You know,” Malcolm starts as they make their way into the subway station. “This is a pretty unconventional way to get an audience with Dr. Whitly.” 

He still doesn’t have a name for the guy, and he’s too guarded to get a good profile. Though that in itself tells Malcolm he’s dangerous as hell, in addition to, well, the guns and everything. 

“Well I don’t have a video camera to get the bastard fifteen minutes more of fame so you’ll have to do.”

God, Malcolm is never going to hear the end of the repercussions from Ainsley’s segment on their father. Twenty years the bastard’s been locked up and now that his face is all over the news and tv specials again, people are popping out of the woodwork like whack-a-moles. There was his dead patient’s family, an old victim’s sister, and now these assholes. 

A very small part of him wishes Dr. Whitly hadn’t survived that stab wound. 

No matter how much Malcolm had hated himself for it for months after. 

They take the journey mostly in silence, Malcolm unwilling to ask any questions in case the policy set down back in the loft extends to their journey as well. He can’t risk Gil getting hurt because he was an idiot. If it weren’t for Gil and the princess, he’d likely have already done something completely ill advised and directly against his own safety and well being. But with the two people he loves most on the line, he can’t risk anything. 

On the subway, the muscles around his midsection cramp again and he curses. It takes effort not to let all the pain show on his face, but the old man must see something because he leans over and presses the barrel of his gun against Malcolm’s side. It’s hidden in his pocket but for the fear it sparks in Malcolm’s spine, it may as well be out in the open. 

“Don’t even think about making a scene,” his captor growls out. 

“I promise,” he whispers, “I’m not trying to. I’m actively trying to not show how much this hurts right now.” The hand on his belly is shaking even as the cramp begins to subside. 

The fear over his current situation is amplified by the fact that he’s 99.99% sure that he’s now had two contractions this morning.

If he weren’t being held at gunpoint and his and Gil’s life in serious jeopardy Malcolm may have attributed the pain to Braxton-Hicks. His doctor had warned him about those, as had literally every one else he’s talked to that’s ever carried a child and then some. But with the stress levels where they are, he’s suddenly terrified they’re real, and that his body is releasing all the wrong chemicals to keep the princess cooking for a little while longer. 

But, it’s been a long while since the first one. 

Surely he has time.

They get to their stop sooner than Malcolm expects and he realizes he’s been zoning out while trying to work through his problems. 

Old Man taps him on the stomach again when the doors slide open. “We’ve got one stop to make before we make it to the facility. Then our errands are almost done.” He speaks at an even tone, loud enough others could hear him as if they’re having a casual conversation. Malcolm wishes he could deck him.

As soon as they’re out on the street again, Malcolm’s phone rings. 

“I should probably get that,” he tells his captor. “I have a habit of getting into trouble and my team tends to go looking for me if I don’t answer my phone.”

It keeps ringing in his pocket while the old man stares him down, obviously contemplating his options. “Charlie,” he barks out and Malcolm can feel his heart in his throat. “Aim up and wait for my signal. Our friend needs to answer a call.” To Malcolm, who almost can’t breathe he’s so worried about what that means, he adds, “I think you know not to say anything that could come across as bad for you, right?”

He nearly drops his phone, his hand shakes so much, but Malcolm nods.

It’s Dani calling, which he had honestly expected. Either her or JT.

Just after he hits the answer button, Malcolm turns the volume down low so whatever she says won’t carry over to the man holding him hostage. 

“Detective Powell,” he says, hoping she’ll pick up on the fact he hasn’t called her that in almost a year. “What’s up?”

“Uh…” she seems thrown by it. Good. “Have you seen Gil this morning? He should have been here about half an hour ago. It’s not like him to be late on Marco’s coffee mornings.” 

“Oh, uh, not since yesterday.” That she has to know is a lie. Everyone knows they’ve been living together - officially - for two months. “But he was feeling a little off?”

Dani goes silent for a moment and he can hear shuffling and her snapping her fingers in the background. “Can you talk?”

“Absolutely not.” Malcolm tries not to laugh, the panic screwing with his impulses.

“Are you in danger?”

“When am I not?”

“Where are you?”

“Oh, you know, just facing my demons.”

“And Gil?”

“Thanks Detective. Sorry I couldn’t be a better help.” He pauses, then adds. “Oh, hey! Before you go, tell JT he still owes me twenty bucks from dinner two nights ago. He can give it to Sunshine. She’ll make sure it makes it to my hands.” 

“You’re at Claremont and Gil’s still at home?”

“Yup. Hey, I gotta go! See you tomorrow.”

Malcolm doesn’t wait for a response, just hangs up and shoves the phone back in his pocket while staring wide eyed at the old man beside him with bated breath. 

For a long time they just stand there in silence, Malcolm unable to breathe until the guy nods, and speaks into his head set. “All clear.”

Malcolm nearly collapses in relief. 

Another spasm cuts his moment of reprieve short, however. It’s stronger this time, and Malcolm tries to ignore how much  _ less  _ time there’s been since the last one than there was between the first two. When he pushes his hand against his stomach as if they will give him any relief (it doesn’t) his princess kicks back, hard. She obviously isn’t liking their current situation any more than he is, and she’s abusing his insides to let him know.

Thankfully, he’s allowed to breathe through the pain before he’s forced to start moving again. 

About a block away from Claremont, his captor guides Malcolm into an alley and hides his gun behind a small dumpster after checking all around them for anyone watching too closely. “This doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet, Whitly,” he reminds Malcolm. “I’ve got that cop of yours at gunpoint if you step one toe out of line.”

Malcolm nods, swallowing heavily. “Claremont doesn’t allow phones. How will I know he’s still safe once we’re past security?” 

“You’re on a short timer. Nothing I need to do in that building is going to take longer than ten minutes. We get through security and the timer starts the second I disconnect. Fifteen minutes. In, out, re-establish connection. If we don’t, well, I hope you didn’t go to bed angry last night because whatever you said last will be the last thing the two of you ever said to each other.”

All Malcolm can do is nod as they start to walk again, the massive, imposing outline of Claremont coming into view around the corner, the soft glow of early morning sunlight making it look almost serene. It’s far too beautiful for everything going on right now. Malcolm somehow hates it even more than he ever has. And he honestly hadn’t thought that would ever be possible.

Security is as straightforward as it has always been. Check ID, sign in, write down a purpose and who is being visited. He does finally get a glimpse at his captor’s name. Devon. Great. Now he knows what to yell when he’s cursing the man in the future for putting him through this. 

For putting them through this. 

A few guards nod to him. The older ones have known Malcolm for as long as Martin’s been here. Being at Claremont at this time of day - at any time of day really - isn’t out of the ordinary for him. There aren’t any red flags anyone would notice. 

Though, it has been quite some time since he’s stepped foot inside. Any communication with Dr. Whitly’s been via phone since he started showing. 

The plan had been to never let Martin Whitly know he had a grandchild. 

Even Jessica had actually agreed to that. No announcements, no pictures, no mentioning it to him -  _ ever.  _

Malcolm, as lucky as always, doesn’t get a choice anymore.

Which is just something else to pile onto this peach of a day - if he survives it anyway. 

On the third floor Devon unexpectedly guides him into the men’s restroom. There isn’t anyone else in there, and since Devon can’t actively cause any harm to Gil at the moment, Malcolm doesn’t hold back on the commentary.

“Aren’t we a little pressed for time to pause for a pee break?” He asks. 

But Devon doesn’t say anything, just glares at Malcolm before disappearing into the farthest stall for a moment. When he comes out, he’s clearly stuck something in his pocket that had been hiding there.

Well, there go Malcolm’s slim fucking hopes that this visit had just been for conversation purposes.

A man can dream, after all.

Though he still has no idea what Devon’s ultimate goal is, he’s more and more convinced it’s not just Dr. Whitly that won’t make it out alive. Whatever is going on, whoever these two men are that have stolen the tentative peace from Gil and Malcolm’s lives, they don’t plan to leave them behind. 

Mr. David is waiting for them in the hall, just outside the outer door to Martin’s cell. He smiles at Malcolm and nods his head with a surprised smile. “I’d wondered why I hadn’t seen you in a while, Malcolm,” he starts, nodding to his stomach. “Not really wondering any more. How close are you?”

“Not long now, actually.” Malcolm nods back at his captor. “Devon here’s been helping with a case and uh, needs to talk to my dad.”

When the door opens Dr. Whitly’s voice comes through loud and clear, excited. “Oh, my boy! I have missed you so much these last few months. And look at you…”

David goes through first and Malcolm makes a split second decision.

There’s not much time, the tiniest of windows to get this done. 

Malcolm is ahead of Devon and moves as quickly as possible, throwing himself forward to grab the door and turns to slam it shut, yelling out. “Call a lock-down! Now!”

Thankfully, David doesn’t hesitate, pulling out his radio and calling in the alert immediately. The sirens go off a second later.

But instead of banging on the door or shouting in anger, Devon has a smile spread wide across his face as he steps back to the center of the antechamber and rips his shirt open.

Malcolm’s blood runs cold.

The thick fabric of his clothing had been hiding a layer of plastic explosives strapped to his chest. Devon grabs the item out of his pocket that he’d stashed there out of the bathroom, and stabs it into the top of the material on his body.

“GET BACK!” Malcolm, heart racing in his chest and fear flooding every inch of his body, grabs David and runs over the red line towards Martin.

In a bright flash of noise and searing pain, everything goes black. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Gil loses track of how long he’s sitting there in the center of the bed, staring down Charlie, his captor. The minutes tick by, second after second, and he’s going insane not being able to do anything. His own phone rings a couple times, but he doesn’t even entertain the idea of suggesting he should answer it. He makes plans, though, for what he could do. There are things within his reach he could throw, distract with. Though Charlie is pretty vigilant there are moments here and there that he slips, turns his head, or is distracted by a noise from the street outside. His worry though, is for Malcolm’s safety. So he can’t do anything but sit until he knows Malcolm is past security at Claremont.

Once the sun comes out he gets a little bit of a better look at him and the familiarity start to make a little more sense. 

As does, well, everything else really. 

He’s older than he was the last time Gil saw him, but the red hair and the port wine stain on the side of his neck give him away.

Charlie Phelps. Younger brother of one of the Surgeon’s many victims. 

He’s got plenty of time to try and come up with a reason they waited twenty years to move on Whitly, but he doesn’t dare speak up about it. He doesn’t dare say anything in case they decide to take it all out on Malcolm.

At some point after the sun has started rising, Gil jerks back when Charlie raises his gun and comes in close. Gil doesn’t even dare breathe for a few moments, heart pounding in his chest with worry about what is happening on the other end of that phone line.

But the gun is gone a minute later. 

And Gil is even more confused than before.

He takes stock of his surroundings again. Charlie is still by the window, there are pillows he could easily throw at him, a few things sitting on the night stand he could get at the guys head if his aim is just right, and the blankets. But anything further than that and he wouldn’t have time to do a damn thing before he gets a bullet somewhere vital. 

When Gil sees the light of the Bluetooth head piece flash and then go out, he knows he doesn’t have long to act. 

Charlie cocks his gun. “We kept you around in case he demanded to hear from you before they got in. But they're in now, so we don’t need you anymore.” 

They both move at once, Gil rolling forward on the bed below the line of fire and pushing himself off into Charlie’s legs as the gun goes off. He moves on instinct, tackling the guy to the ground then going for his gun, twisting them both around in a direction so it isn’t aimed at himself. Charlie is strong, but Gil is determined. He manages to slam Charlie’s hand into the solid, steel frame of Malcolm’s bed, thankful for it’s strength and how it’s bolted to the floor in order to keep Malcolm restrained through the worst of his night terrors. Charlie cries out, and the gun goes skidding off further into the loft, sliding until it stops just before the edge of the step down into the kitchen. 

Though the immediate threat of death by gunfire is gone, Charlie doesn’t give in easily. Gil gets a solid punch to his side and has to keep moving through the pain to land his own blows. A heel of his hand to the guys chin, then a knee to his solar plexus. Finally, Gil gets him in enough of a choke hold that Charlie can’t fight back much, and eventually goes limp.

The second he is Gil bolts across the room, gets the gun in his hand then goes for his own firearm and his cell.

JT picks up in less than half a ring. 

“Boss.”

“I need you to send squad cars to Claremont and get the team over there A.S.A.P,” he belts out while grabbing the clothes he’d been wearing the day before. Gil never takes his eyes off the prone form on the floor at the foot of the bed and starts to dress one handed with his phone tucked between his shoulder and his head. 

“I’m already on my way,” JT curses and Gil can hear the sound of an engine and sirens in the background. Malcolm must have gotten them a message somehow.

Thank god. 

“Dani should be with you any second now, but Gil, listen…”

“JT! Malcolm was taken at gunpoint. They were headed for Claremont but I don’t know what -”

JT cuts him off. “Gil! We know. Or at least, we know enough. But man, Gil, listen. There was an explosion.”

Gil freezes.

He doesn’t doubt that the men who had come after them this morning were looking for something deadly with their help, but he hadn’t even thought… hadn’t imagined he’d have to face this. This fear, eating at his chest and his stomach. 

“It was in Martin’s block, wasn’t it?” Gil hears himself speaking but doesn’t really register the words. 

JT doesn’t respond at first, which is more than enough answer for him. 

The world goes static and Gil knows he should be keeping an eye on Charlie, should keep his gun trained on him in case he gets up again, comes to. But all he can do is sink down onto the floor, his mind a haze of confusion and loss. 

“Gil…” JT speaks louder, like he’s been trying to get through to him for a while. 

He can’t give up like this. If there’s any chance he could have gotten out, Malcolm would have found it. He would have found a way to keep himself, and their child, safe. He has to come home to Gil. 

Not even realizing what is happening around him, Gil looks up when Dani grabs the phone out of his hand. “I got him, JT. Go find Bright.”

It’s at that point he realizes he’s still half dressed in just his pants and reaches around for a shirt to pull over his head. “Tell me what you’ve got,” Gil demands, his voice surprisingly calm for how he feels. There are uniformed officers in his home, clearing the scene, calling for medics. But none of that matters. All that matters is finding out what happened, where Malcolm is.

If he’s safe. 

He needs to focus like it’s just another update, can’t break down until he knows.

Until he sees.

Dani waves over a medic that comes through the door and they both squat down to Gil’s level. He’s vaguely aware of someone poking around the back of his head while Dani talks. 

“I called Malcolm when you didn’t pick up the second time we called. He called me Detective Powell and said he hadn’t seen you since yesterday. We figured out the rest of his hints and sent out squad cars immediately.” Gil hisses when he feels something cold and wet stinging the cut on the back of his head and has to fight not to jerk away. “The explosion occurred less than a minute after unis got to the scene. All we know so far is that yes, it is in Martin’s block. From the reports I got from the outside, it looks like it wasn’t in his cell though.”

“I need to get there, I need…” His head is swimming and the ache in his chest is making it hard to breathe.

“Gil.” Dani puts her hand on his shoulder and uses the other to tap his chin until he’s looking at her. “You can’t help right now. The fire department is on the scene. We need to get you taken care of. You’ve got a head wound, probably a concussion, and a massive bruise already starting on your side.”

None of that matters. Nothing wrong with him makes any difference at all if Malcolm isn’t okay, if… He can’t even think of all the other possibilities right now. 

Gil stands, straight and tall. He takes his phone back from Dani, grabs his badge and his gun, and takes a deep breath.

“Take me to Claremont.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The pain doesn’t wake him up so much as drag Malcolm back to consciousness kicking and screaming

Literally.

When the pain around his midsection recedes he stops screaming long enough to realize it wasn’t the only thing that hurts. His head is pounding, his shoulder feels like he’s rubbing bone against bone, and he can’t seem to open his left eye. He coughs uncontrollably and it makes everything hurt worse. 

“Easy now, Malcolm. Breathe through this.”

Wet fabric pressing over his nose and mouth coupled with his father’s sickeningly soothing voice causes Malcolm to panic. As quickly as his heart rate skyrockets, however, the moment he realizes it’s just damp with water to give him a chance to catch his breath and protect him from the dust still suffocating the air, he forces himself to inhale. 

Malcolm still can’t open his left eye but with his good one he forces himself to take in his surroundings. His father and David are on either side of where Malcolm is laid out on the far end of the cell. Martin doesn’t look too bad off but David has a nasty gash on the side of his head. He is at least upright, which is more than Malcolm can say for himself. There’s still a ringing in his ears from the blast but it’s not enough to drown out the patter of still crumbling bits of building in front of them. There are bricks and beams and plaster hanging everywhere. Sunlight is pouring through the massive hole in the wall and ceiling, highlighting the dust and debris in the air. From where he is, Malcolm can’t see the condition of the floor at the other side of the room but he’s got a pretty good guess what it looks like. 

“Please tell me we’ll be able to walk out of here.” He curls forward in pain as another contraction grips at his body and Malcolm knows he’s in trouble. It hasn’t been very long at all since the last one. This is all wrong. It’s not supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be quiet and private, working through the pain until the last minute with just Gil. 

Fuck. 

Gil. 

He needs Gil.

But he grits his teeth and doesn’t say anything, trying to breathe through the agony. 

When his head falls back against the floor in relief, David is the one who speaks up.

“You aren’t walking anywhere. But even if you could, we’d have to wait for rescue. Which is on its way,” he assures him.

Even in Malcolm’s haze he can feel Martin’s hands on his body and it makes bile rise in his throat as he tries to squirm away. But he doesn’t have the strength or the energy.

“I have to say, my boy,” Martin starts while prodding around Malolm’s lower abdomen. “I had wondered why you’d switched to just phone calls. I would chide you over hiding this from me but being able to deliver my first grandchild more than makes up for it.” There’s a smile evident in his voice and Malcolm shuts his eyes in order to pretend it’s just in his imagination.

Even though he’s too tired to protest, Malcolm’s heart clenches, his chest tightening even more than his contractions. It really isn’t supposed to be like this. Martin isn’t even supposed to know about her - never supposed to have the opportunity to have any influence over her life. And here he is, about to be the first one to get his hands on her. 

Something must show on his face because Martin gently pats Malcolm’s leg.

“None of that now, son.” His voice is as soothing as ever which just makes everything worse. “You’re bleeding, which is never a good sign so we need to get the little one out as soon as we can.”

“You’re not,” Malcolm’s heart races and it’s harder to breathe than before. “You’re a heart surgeon,” he says weakly.

“Oh come now. You know all doctors go through OB rotations. And my mind is as sharp as it has always been. Never forgot a thing. Don’t you worry.”

Malcolm can’t manage another word through the pain searing through every inch of his body. But he hopes the tears that have begun streaking down his face are loud enough.

“Alright. Let’s you and me bring the newest Whitly into the world.”

Agony is the only way to describe what he’s going through.

Malcolm throws his head back, holds his stomach, and screams.

* * *

The drive to Claremont Psychiatric has never felt so long in his entire life.

Gil gets a few updates from JT, but for the most part he sits in the passenger seat of Dani’s car in silent fear. All he knows so far is that the explosion is centered in the section of the building near Martin’s cell, but that as far as they can tell the cell itself - which sits on the top floor at the long end of one of the wings - is still intact.

It’s just that no one can get to it. 

And they don’t know where everyone is that should have been inside it. 

Outside of the car the world is a blur through the moisture built up in his eyes. He’s never thought about the fact that he would have to live through this again. Never thought he’d be left in the dark, wondering what he’s going to find when he arrives at the scene of an incident involving a loved one. It was the same thing when he’d gotten word about Jackie’s accident. 

Only now, there’s no one left to hold him up if it turns out the same way.

His gut is churning with fear and worry and several times Dani takes a turn a little too fast, he’s on edge of losing his stomach contents. 

When Claremont finally comes into view the first tears finally break free. 

The top of the south west wing looks like a wrecking ball was taken to it: a gaping, smoking hole that goes two floors down at least. And that’s just what he can see from the outside. He does note, however, that for such a large looking explosion it had been more focused up and down than outwards. As if it had been contained somehow.

As he gets out of the car and starts making his way towards where JT is helping direct people Gil realizes why.

The doors between the hall and Martin’s cell are heavy duty metal. They wouldn’t stop a big enough explosion completely, but they would definitely deter a blast. 

For the first time since JT had told him what happened here, Gil allows himself to feel hope.

Uniformed officers, EMTs and firefighters swarm the grounds of Claremont, working together as they’re trained to - controlling the crowds, treating the wounded that have already been brought from the wreckage, coordinating the rescue. There’s a large fire truck pulled up close to the building and he can see where they’re headed for the top most floor first.

He watches, from a group of other emergency personnel on stand-by, and waits. 

The radios nearby all crackle with updates from people around the scene, other injured inmates and guards that were on the side of the blast and could get out. Statuses on building integrity. He stands, watching the blown out windows at the top of the ladder as the first responders finally climb through.

Gil doesn’t breathe.

“Get a kit sent up here.” A voice cracks through the speakers. “I’ve got some serious injuries that need to be patched before we evacuate. And Canfield’s coming back down. Have the medics on stand by.”

There’s a noise in the background of the comm before it cuts off, someone else responding an affirmative while the bus behind Gil roars to life and they get a stretcher over to the truck.

And Gil still waits.

Everything falls away into a roar of silence. No more voices matter. Gil doesn’t notice any people moving. An eternity passes while he stands there, eyes focused entirely on that window, everything else a blur. All he sees is the spot where someone will be coming out soon and everything will change, one way or another.

He sees a helmet first, followed by the shoulders of one of the firefighters. But his jacket is gone, his plain black t shirt and bright yellow suspenders on display. A moment later, he crosses the ledge of the window, jacket bundled carefully in one arm.

A loud cry echoes above the din of chaos around him.

Gil’s heart stops.

Next to him, Dani gasps. “Oh my god.”

Time slows while the firefighter descends the never ending ladder. The infant in his arms cries out, then goes silent and Gil moves forward on instinct to meet them at the truck. His heart is in his throat, choking with fear and misery until she cries again

Far over head, Malcolm is still an unknown. If there have been updates over the radio, Gil hasn’t heard them. 

But here, being carried off the back of the fire truck, is their child.

That’s his baby. His daughter,  _ their  _ daughter, being handed off to an EMT who brings her straight to the ambulance and begins to rattle off instructions and numbers. Through all the dust and blood and gunk he can see a full head of dark hair and she’s  _ so tiny.  _

But she’s crying, and she’s  _ loud,  _ and she’s  _ alive. _

He feels something tear at his insides as he realizes that he doesn’t have any clue how Malcolm has fared through all of this but he’s about to watch them pull away with his little girl and he doesn’t know what to do. 

“Gil.” JT comes up beside him and rests a gentle hand on his shoulder, jerking Gil’s attention back down from where he’s still staring at the window. “Go with your daughter. We’ll update you every time we know something new.”

“Promise,” Dani adds from his other side, voice quiet and reassuring. “No matter what happens up there now, your little girl needs her daddy.” 

Gil, bottom lip trembling, swallows his despair and nods.

He turns away from Claremont and hops into the back of the ambulance where Abigail Arroyo’s wails echo his own anguish.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The first thing Malcolm realizes beyond the pain and fuzziness his body floats through is how empty he feels. A rush of fear courses through his veins. He doesn’t know where she is, hasn’t heard her cry. Something is wrong. She’s missing. She isn’t here.

Even though his arms are heavy, he still scrambles to feel his stomach. But as he opens his eyes, albeit a little sluggishly, the sight he’s greeted with lets all the worry drain out of him in a single breath. 

He’s laying in a dimly lit hospital room and beneath the window, stretched out on a couch that’s been converted into a rough looking bed, is Gil. Gil isn’t looking at Malcolm, though. No. All of his attention is on the small, wrinkled infant laying against his chest. Her eyes are open and blinking up at him while her whole fist is wrapped around a single finger. Gil is talking to her, quietly. Malcolm can just barely make out the words as he spins wild tales about Malcolm and exaggerated heroics. Even though there’s a blanket draped across them both, Malcolm can see that Gil’s shirt is hanging open and he and Abigail are cuddled up skin to skin.

Despite the pain he’s in, despite the fear and the anger over everything that has happened, Malcolm smiles. In that quiet moment his chest feels full, his life so complete that he can’t help but accept that nothing else matters. All the terrible, life altering shit they’ve had to wade through pales in comparison to the high of seeing the man he loves with their little girl in his arms. 

A tear slips down his cheek and a small sob breaks through the serenity of the moment. 

“Malcolm?” Gil moves before he finishes saying his name. His voice is dry and he sounds exhausted. Carefully holding his arms around their precious bundle Gil makes his way over to Malcolm’s bedside and sits at the edge. There are tears in his eyes too and with one hand held tightly against their little girl he reaches out to touch Malcolm’s face. His fingers are shaking and Malcolm brings up his own hand to cover Gil’s, bringing him in close so he can turn his cheek into the older man’s palm. 

Gil lets out a relieved huff of air and then breaks into a wide smile.

“Hey, baby.”

Malcolm’s chest aches, his left eye is sore from holding it open, and there’s a pounding still making itself known at the back of his head. 

But none of that matters.

“Hey there, Papa. How’s our little princess doing?” Malcolm’s own voice is even worse than Gil’s but it doesn’t break his smile. 

Gil lets out a wet laugh and shifts to slide Abigail down into his arms and lay her against Malcolm’s chest.

Suddenly, he can’t do anything  _ but  _ cry. Gil holds her still while Malcolm does his best to bring his arms up around her. But between the ache in his chest, the tears in his eyes, and the exhaustion holding him down he doesn’t have the strength to keep her secure. Gil notices, doesn’t say anything, and simply never lets go.

“She’s doing great, baby. Six pounds even, breathing fine. She spent the last, oh, twenty-four hours or so in the NICU and they’re still keeping a close eye on her.” He points to the tiny monitor around her foot with a soft smile. “But she’s amazing.” 

Malcolm doesn’t even bother trying to wipe away his tears, looking down into big, bright blue eyes that stare back up at him. Her mouth opens and closes a few times. He wonders if her eyes will stay that color, or fade to something darker, something more like Gil’s. Her hair is dark black and there’s a lot of it and her skin tone obviously came from him as well. She’s absolutely perfect and so...  _ so _ achingly small.

“How did,” Malcolm swallows around another sob and his chest lurches. “What happened? What um…” He wants to know exactly what went wrong at every step, what they’re going to have to worry about. She’s not small enough to be considered dangerously underweight, he knows from his endless amount of reading. But Martin had said there was a lot of blood. He was literally in an explosion right before her birth. There have to be problems. Maybe oxygen, injuries, something else he hasn’t thought of. 

“Hey, hey. Malcolm, baby.” Gil keeps one hand firmly on Abigail’s back while wiping away Malcolm’s tears with his other. “You are just as amazing as she is, do you hear me? And there may be issues down the road but there may not be. We won’t know until we get there and we’ll handle them like we always do. Head on and together. Right?”

“Right,” he says trying to convince himself more than agree with Gil. “What about uh, Mother? I’m surprised she isn’t filling up the room too.”

At that question Gil drops his head to hide a smirk. “Jessica is throwing a fit about not getting to see and hold her granddaughter yet. But since Abigail is still under such close monitoring and kept under watch when she isn’t with us they’re keeping everyone out until she’s completely cleared to be around others.” Gil leans in for another soft kiss. “Plus, I wanted to make sure you got to hold her first.”

Malcolm’s really tired of crying. But, he figures he’s got a damn good excuse at the moment so he just lets it all keep coming out Silently. 

When he thinks he can open his mouth without some kind of sob coming out, he asks, “What about Martin? The explosion? What happened at the loft?”

“Devon and Charlie Phelps were the father and younger brother of Olivia Phelps.”

“One of the surgeon’s victims. I had figured they were family based on what they said when we woke up.”

“Charlie, apparently, has been just as quiet at the station as he was at home. Not saying anything to anyone. He hasn’t even asked for a lawyer. And Devon, well, they’re still cleaning him up out of the debris,” Gil says with a grim look on his face. 

“And Dr. Whitly?”

The one thing they fight about most is how much Malcolm still sees his father, how often he speaks to him. Gil has made it very clear that he regrets ever bringing him in on a case with how far Malcolm spiraled that first year. But Malcolm reminds him he can’t go back and change it, and that they just have to deal with the consequences. He  _ doesn’t  _ point out how conflicted he still is over everything, or how he second guesses himself so often now that he’s used to the serial killer’s input.

Thankfully, Gil swallows and doesn’t bring any of that up.

“If you keep seeing him, he’s going to be a pain in the ass about this now that he knows. So, he’s going to be a pain in the ass about this.” The older man shrugs, still keeping one hand on Abigail. “Apparently he’s on cloud nine over the whole thing.”

“Well that’s just, terrible.” Malcolm drops his head back against the pillow and groans, letting his eyes fall shut and rest for a minute. 

On his chest, Abigail makes a small cooing noise that makes all his other worries vanish.

He sits back up to give her a kiss, to force himself to adjust so he can cradle her in his arms. Gil helps, holding her safe until Malcolm is ready. “And what about your mother?” Malcolm asks in a whisper while stroking Abigail’s soft, plump cheek.

“Ina promised to wait until we left the hospital.” Gil grabs one of the premade formula bottles the staff has left on a side table and preps it, then hands it to Malcolm. “She’s been cooking non-stop since I called her yesterday so we’ll have plenty to eat for the next month.”

“At least,” Malcolm laughs then carefully holds the bottle up and watches, mesmerized, as their little girl begins to eat greedily. 

They fall silent, Gil with a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and the other stroking Abigail’s hair, Malcolm staring into bright blue eyes, amazed as Abigail reaches her arm out as if searching for something. As Gil had done earlier, he brings his fingers up close and watches, breathless, as she latches on. 

One tiny fist holding on for dear life to the tip of his finger. 

Gil leans in and gives Malcolm a slow, soft, tender kiss then presses an even softer one to Abigail’s head. He puts his hand over Malcolm’s, thumb stroking their daughter’s soft skin, and they sit in silence for several long, beautiful minutes.

Just the three of them.

A family. 


End file.
